Freak
by Lisa Smithers
Summary: John Watson has had a very, very, very bad day at the practice. When he gets home, the flat is an absolute mess, and Sherlock is standing in the middle of it all. John tries to keep his temper, but what happens when he loses it, and accidentally calls Sherlock "Freak"? Slight Sherlolly. Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Adventure - Now has sequel - "The Healing Poison"
1. The Explosion

John Watson had had a very, very bad day. First, he woke up three hours before he usually did because Sherlock seemed to think that 4:00 in the morning was a good time to practice his violin. John continued to lie in his bed, trying to go back to sleep. Eventually he dosed off and woke up again, only to find that he was by then late for work. When he got there, he was chewed out by his supervisor for being late. His first patient of the day chose to spend their appointment telling John their life story. By the end of that appointment, John was already an hour behind schedule. All the patients he had at his practice that day were nagging and groaning from "Pain" every chance they could get whether the pain existed or not. They wanted John to treat injuries and illnesses that simply weren't there. Then, when John told them this, they insisted that something was, in fact, the matter, and that he must be blind not to see it. He had to skip lunch to get back up to schedule. By the end of the day, he was ready to collapse into bed and take a few hours' nap. No such luck. When he opened the door to the flat, he saw that the place was in utter disarray. Books were strewn everywhere, body parts sitting on the couch, the chairs, the counters, the shelves, the table, every where. Beakers containing who knows what hazardous chemical were spilled on the carpet. Then he saw Sherlock, standing in front of the window playing his violin. John felt his blood boiling. Rage built up in his chest, causing enough pressure that the had to let it out on the nearest thing. That happened to be Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" John said. "What in the world is all this mess about?!"

"I got bored." Sherlock sighed. "The criminals these days are so boring…" John ignored the latter half.

"You got bored." John nodded, his voice short and clipped. "So you did this here, huh?"

"Ye-p." Sherlock held out the Y and popped the P. Something about that infuriated John even more than he already was. John tried to remain calm, he really did. But he failed. John exploded.

"Humans don't do this when they're bored, Sherlock!" John yelled, his face twisting with anger. "They don't leave chemicals all over the floor, they don't leave books all over the furniture, they don't leave body parts in the blender, toast, oven, freezer, or refrigerator, and they certainly don't stand in the middle of the mess and act as if they see nothing wrong with it! High functioning sociopath, yeah right! You're low if I've ever seen it! Want me to add narcissism to that list?! What in the world is wrong with you Sherlock?! Why do you have to be such a know-it-all!? You can identify 246 different types of tobacco ash, but you can't keep the flat clean for just one day!? Can't you do anything for yourself?! Gosh! You can't even remember to feed yourself, can you!? Talk about infantile! You need a babysitter 27-7 just to make sure you eat, drink, and sleep enough that you won't get yourself killed! I leave for just a few hours, and I come back to you and your worthless 'transport' standing in front of the window, while your stupid little mind focuses on writing that screeching music that I'm forced to listen to, instead of considering that maybe, just maybe, you could clean up the flat a bit before I got back from working so that you could have a place to live!"

John's rant left him breathless, and he stared at Sherlock as he regained it.

"Well, now that you've gotten that out, I've found a private case that could possibly be worth our time. Coming?" Sherlock asked. John paused and stared at Sherlock, his anger rising once again, but with disbelief and exasperation joining it.

"That didn't even affect you, did it?" John asked. "You don't care about anything I just said? Not even the tiniest bit?" Sherlock didn't respond, instead kneeling down to tie his shoes. "Maybe Sally and Anderson were right." John said. "Maybe you are just some crazy freak!" John was about to say more, but was cut off by the text alert on Sherlock's phone.

"Saved by a text. How typical." John said, anger and hatred still seeping through his words like blood in a steak. Sherlock picked up his phone and opened it. It was a moment before he spoke. "Lestrade has a case." Sherlock said, in a strange monotone voice that contradicted his usual excitement when confronted with a new case. Sherlock grabbed his coat and walked out the front door.

John sighed and put the kettle to boil. After making himself a cup of tea, he walked over to his chair and sat, only then noticing that it was the only clean thing in the entire living room. Everything else was covered in clutter from Sherlock's many experiments, but John's chair remained untouched.

* * *

A/N: John's a bit OOC right now, but he's just exhausted and angry. He'll get back to normal soon, so don't worry. ;) Did you like my touch with the chair being untouched? Give me reviews!


	2. The Aftermath

Straight off, Lestrade sensed something wasn't right. John wasn't with Sherlock, which was unheard of since he showed up in the first place. That, and Sherlock seemed to be less arrogant than usual. He didn't deduce anything about Sally or Anderson, an he didn't state his deductions out loud. It then occurred to Lestrade that without John, no one was really interested enough in Sherlock's deductions to want to know how Sherlock had made them. When Sherlock finally spoke it was in a cold, emotionless tone. Rid of the enthusiasm he had long grown accustomed to. Lestrade looked him over closely, checking to see if Sherlock was perhaps ill or injured, the pain making him act as he was. Lestrade could see nothing. Sherlock told Lestrade his final deductions, but did not state his elimination process aloud. Lestrade took the deductions down in a notebook.

"Something wrong Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. Lestrade didn't pity him. He knew better. It was exactly what it sounded like, and Sherlock knew that. It was curious inquiry.

"Bad day." Sherlock mumbled. Sherlock never mumbled. It was strange enough for him to admit the day wasn't the greatest, let alone mumble.

"Experiment gone wrong?" Lestrade asked.

"No." Sherlock said. Sherlock looked back to the crime scene. He squinted at a particular scrape on the floor and brought out his pocket magnifier. He examined the scratch for a few seconds before looking up and thinking. He looked back to the body. He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated. He looked down at the scrape then back at the body. Sherlock Holmes never hesitated. He was always sure of what he was saying. Lestrade soon found out why. Sherlock rubbed his forehead with one hand, starting at the temples and moving towards the middle of his forehead. Then both hands came up and covered his mouth momentarily before going back down in front of him and rubbing together, before finally resting in his usual thinking position.

"Can-can you please get Anderson?" Sherlock said. "Due to John's absence I need his professional opinion." Lestrade nodded. Even to him, Anderson was a pain.

"Sure." Lestrade answered. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

"Don't know." Sherlock said. Lestrade radioed for Anderson

"Really? Figured he would have told you." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, then pursed his lips and looked back down to the body.

"You two fighting or something?" Lestrade asked. He tried to introduce the topic gently, knowing feelings and everyday things were not something Sherlock enjoyed talking about.

"He's angry at me." Sherlock answered, his voice steady. Lestrade could tell that his focus was still on the body. "Nothing I don't deserve." The latter part was said more quietly, and Lestrade was fairly positive that he wasn't meant to hear it.

"Why is he angry?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock frowned, eyeing a specific piece of gravel on the floor closely.

"I don't know." Sherlock said.

"Then what makes you think you deserve it?" Lestrade asked.

"I always deserve it." The words were out of Sherlock's mouth before he realized he said them. Once he realized what he said, he looked up sharply and moved to a different position so he could get a better view of the body. Lestrade sensed that this was the end to the conversation.

"Where's Anderson?" Sherlock asked. As if on cue, Anderson walked through the door followed closely by Sally.

"So John's finally come to his senses then, huh?" Sally commented. "Left you where you belong, by yourself." Sherlock closed his eyes for just slightly longer than it would take to blink.

"I am not in the mood for your annoying banter today." Sherlock said. "Just do your jobs then extract yourselves from the premises." Sally and Anderson completely disregarded this order, and continued to poke and prod at the consulting detective. For awhile it was just the occasional eye rolling, but when Sherlock didn't respond in any way, shape, or form, they upped the scales and started making up stories about why John wasn't there. Some of the stories had Sherlock killing John, stashing his body in the river Thames, others Sherlock's not noticing that John had been shot and was bleeding out, that that had done the trick. Still others put John getting sick and tired of Sherlock complaining of boredom and of him just flat out leaving. Theories revolved around that. Under normal circumstances, Lestrade wouldn't have been worried. He'd let Donovan and Anderson spin of web of ideas, then let Sherlock take them both down in it kicking and screaming, Sherlock spinning the truth its wake. But this time, Sherlock wasn't responding. He was thinking, but Lestrade was sure he wasn't entirely in his mind palace, and most definitely could hear what Anderson and Donovan were coming up with.

"Time of death." Sherlock said out of the blue, during one of their more brutal theories. Anderson seemed to realize for the first time that they were at the scene of a crime.

"7-8 hours ago." Anderson said.

"Hmm…" Sherlock stood up from his crouched position. He walked over to he window and pulled back the curtains, looking through the glass.

"Got something?" Lestrade asked.

"Maybe." Sherlock answered. Sherlock looked closely at the windowsill. He frowned then looked at the top of the window. He stood thinking a moment.

"How-" Sherlock said, but stopped, his lips forming a silent "Oh"

He took off towards the victim's bedroom. Lestrade followed him, having to jog to keep up with the long legged detective's gate. Sherlock threw open the closet doors and stared at the clothes. After a moment he closed his eyes and nodded to himself. He quickly pulled out every single shirt and pair of dress pants in there. He pulled out his pocket magnifier and examined each article closely. After about fifteen minutes, Sherlock had finished. He immediately set about the flat. He walked over to the bed, bending over and breathing in deeply through his nose. He smelled around the room. He walked back to the clothes and smelled them. Then he went to their bathroom and smelled every shampoo, body wash, and conditioner they owned. He then proceeded to smell all the perfumes and colognes in the cabinet, then smelled the one existing bottle of aftershave. It was then the light bulb seemed to go off in his head. You could almost see his eyes brightening. He hurried over to the trash can and peaked in.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked.

"Just a hunch, I'm not positive yet." Sherlock answered. Sherlock walked back to the laundry room and smelled the detergents.

"And… solved." Sherlock said, as he sniffed the last one.

"Your conclusion?" Lestrade said.

"The wife was cheating on her husband. Her boyfriend is the murder." Sherlock said. "He came in through the window, and left through the window after changed into the husband's clothes. The wife washed the blood out of the clothes, then gave them back to the boyfriend. Thus the reason the case wasn't reported until later."

"Motive?" Lestrade asked.

"The wife wanted to run off with her boyfriend, but wanted her husband's money. Together the wife and the boyfriend cracked a plan. The husband gets killed, leaves money to wife, and she and the boyfriend go off and start a new life. You're looking for a man in his late 30s with dark hair, and facial hair. About 6' tall, roughly 230 pounds. He wears glasses, and his first and last initials are T and W."

"I see." Lestrade wrote this all down. Sherlock sighed and started to walk out of the house. "Wait-" Lestrade said, then paused awkwardly. "Need an excuse to stay out of the flat?" Sherlock tilted his head.

"Possibly."

"I'm just saying it might give him a little more time to cool off." Lestrade said.

"What is your suggestion?" Sherlock asked.

"I've got a cold case we just found some new evidence on." Lestrade said. "Want to take a look?" Sherlock nodded. "Meet me at the Yard then. Say… half an hour? I need to finish up here." Sherlock gave a brisk nod, then left the scene.

As soon as he was gone, Lestrade immediately phoned John.

"Hello?" John said. Lestrade skipped the pleasantries.

"Did you and Sherlock have a fight or something?" Lestrade asked. He heard John sigh.

"Bad day at work; came back to a messy flat and an uncooperative flat mate, which resulted in me exploding and saying some things I didn't mean." John said. "It's not his fault. I overreacted."

"Well that's not how he sees it." Lestrade said.

"How does he see it then?" John asked.

"He's convinced it's his fault, and though he's not entirely sure what it is that he did, he somehow has it stuck in his brain that he deserves what ever it is that you said."

"Gosh!" John said. "He was actually listening- He didn't react at all- I thought he had just tuned me out like he usually- I may have actually hurt him this time…"

"I hate to be a bummer, but there's no maybe about it." Lestrade said. "He wasn't himself during the case."

"How so?" John asked.

"His cockiness was none existent, he didn't hardly respond to Sally and Anderson's taunting, ASKED for Anderson's professional opinion due to your absence, and was just all around lower key. He didn't even do his deductions aloud."

* * *

A/N: Poor Sherlock, John's words really hurt him, didn't they? I wonder how John's going to apologize? How would you apologize to a man like Sherlock Holmes? Why does Sherlock think it's always his fault? Could his cockiness be a cover for something? Hmm... what do you think?

Here you go The-Actress, I updated for you. ;)

Did anyone follow Sherlock's deduction process? Try to give me some guesses in the reviews. I'll tell you if you're right. ;)


	3. Cold Cases

"We need to talk about this in person." John said.

"Alright, meet me at the coffee shop in thirty minutes." Lestrade said, "I've got to get Sherlock started on the cold case I promised him first."

"Cold case? He can solve those in fifteen minutes!" John said.

"Which is exactly why I'm giving him 36 of them." Lestrade said. "You know his work calms him down. Anyway, he's walking in the door, I've got to go. See you soon."

Lestrade set the phone down and pretended to be doing paper work as Sherlock walked into his office.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock said.

"Just a second Sherlock, let me finish this..." Lestrade scribbled in his report of what happened, loosly describing what happened at the scene of the crime. He was also making sure Sherlock bought the idea that he had been doing paper work the whole time. As far as he could tell, Sherlock seemed to.

"And... ready." Lestrade said, after signing his name at the bottom of the page.

Lestrade dug through his bottom drawer. "I found these earlier. They're the more interesting of the cold cases." Lestrade said, "Or at least of my opinion." Lestrade sat the stack of manilla folders. "There's 36 cases here... so that'd buy you at least... 2 hours, maybe 3?"

Sherlock looked through the first folder. "2 1/2 hours if they're all like this one in difficulty." He said, "Good guess Greg." Lestrade's eyes nearly bugged. Sherlock just called him by his first name. And Sherlock had gotten it right.

"Well, I know I don't have to tell you where everything is, so you've pretty well got free range." Lestrade said, "Just try not to irritate my officers too much."

"I'll endeavor not to." Sherlock said.

"Well, I need to get going." Lestrade said. "I've got to me with someone. Just uh- write down the answers in my note book and I'll get them to the chief. Thanks mate."

Lestrade walked out the door of his office to meet John.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the super short chapter! I'll try to make the future ones longer, but the next one after this might be a little short as well. No guesses on how Sherlock deduced the murders in the last one?! My, my, I am disappointed. I guess no one will know how he deduced it until I get some guesses...


	4. Coffee and Cluelessness

Lestrade appeared behind John in the que for ordering coffee.

"Sorry I'm late. I got out just in time for bad traffic." Lestrade said.

"It's fine, Greg." John said. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Yeah about that, I think we might have a bigger problem than I thought." Lestrade said, "When I met him for the cold cases he called me 'Greg'. That kind of set alarm lights flashing about in my head." Lestrade and John were at the front of the que now and they ordered their coffees. They were ready but a moment later and Lestrade and John picked them up from the counter. The headed to a booth in the back of the shop.

"Oh gosh," John said, as he sat down with his coffee. "I knew it hurt him, but I didn't think it would-" John paused mid-sentence.

A clicking sound. One that both Lestrade and John would recognize anywhere considering how often they heard it.

"Mycroft." They both said, sighing. Mycroft came walking up at an unusually quick pace.

"My cameras don't have audio. What happened?" Mycroft said.

"He has cameras in your flat?" Lestrade asked, "Why would you let-"

"I don't like it, but it's saved our lives more than enough to make it worth it." John turned to Mycroft.

"I... I had a really bad day at the practice and-" Mycroft cut John off.

"I know." Mycroft said, "Just get to the point. What happened in the flat?"

John raised an eyebrow and sighed once again. "I'm going to try to ignore how creepy it is that you had me stalked."

"Not stalked, just... watched." Mycroft said, "Now we have bigger things to worry about.

"Listen to me John." Mycroft said. "Sherlock has placed you in a very high position in his life. You are his friend. His best friend in fact, and that's given even more weight by the fact that he actually admits it. Now, you are one of the few people that can actually hurt him. The fact that he has made that possible to you is a gift, one of which I am sure you don't want to abuse. He's allowed you into his life now, but don't you dare think that he won't take that privilege away just as quickly as he gave it." Lestrade paused to take a breath.

"I hate to agree with Mycroft, but he's right this is a big deal." Lestrade said.

"Slip ups like this can't happen, John." Mycroft said. "Despite my warnings my brother seems to have developed some sort of sentiment in releation to you."

"I've known Sherlock for a long time, and he's a lot more sensitive than he'd like others to think. He's great at hiding it. But what ever went down between you two today, that can't happen again or we'll all lose him completely. I know he's a pain sometimes, but you're the only friend he's got and it'd kill him to lose you."

"Yes, yes, I've made a huge mistake, that's all fine and well, but we've already established that!" John said, "I already know what the problem is, what I need help figuring out is the solution!"

Lestrade and Mycroft looked at each other for a moment, with John staring at the both of them.

"I've got nothing." Lestrade said.

John looked to Mycroft hopefully.

"Don't look at me, I've never apologized to him in my life!" Mycroft scoffed.

"My, what a big help both of you have been today, eh?" John said sarcastically, "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." Mycroft said.

It apparently wasn't just Sherlock that missed sarcasm. John sighed, and Lestrade couldn't hold back a snicker.

Mycroft looked quickly back and forth between the two of them, hating the unusual feeling of cluenessless that was accumulating inside of him.

* * *

A/N: So, not quite as short as the chapter before, but still a little on the short side. I'll try to keep them just a tad longer than this. Reviews please!


	5. Freak Defined

John walked up to the door of 221b where he knew Sherlock was. John unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and then opened it. Not seeing Sherlock in the living room, John moved to the kitchen, which was the second most likely place.

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes to his microscope. Sherlock did not address John, but glanced at him momentarily to verify his identity. _This is it._ John thought.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry." John started.

"For what?" Sherlock asked.

"For earlier," John clarified. "I said some things I didn't mean."

"You have no reason to apologize, John." Sherlock said resignedly. "You were merely stating the truth."

"It's not the truth Sherlock, I was angry. Sometimes people say things they don't mean when they're angry."

"I don't understand, it wasn't a lie, John." Sherlock said. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head a few degrees to the side, making it seem as though he honestly didn't understand.

"All the things you said about me, they're true. I'm not normal, I am, in fact, on the lower side of the high functioning side of sociopathic scale, I am an addict, I am crazy, I can't do much for myself, and I am a freak. So… What's the problem?" John felt a stabbing pain in his chest when Sherlock uttered that last bit. _I am a freak._ Sherlock had just openly admitted that that was his view of himself.

"I don't think you're a freak, Sherlock." John said.

"Not in your conscious mind, I don't think, no." Sherlock said. "But your subconscious mind has obviously categorized me in that way. That was made evident in that it wouldn't have even occurred to you to say it had you not. It seems to be a general consensus all around that I am, in fact, a freak. The definition of freak in relation to humans is "Out of the ordinary, eccentric, or unusual." Then when you add the negativity that comes in from an insult, it means "Strange, disliked, unaccepted, lack of relation to social norms, unpleasant, and other such things. As you know well being my flat mate, all of those apply to me. Therefore, by society's standards, I am a freak in both definitions of the word. I was born that way, and I will always be that way." John was unsure of how to answer, so he didn't for a long moment. Sherlock went back to his work

"What about by your own standards?" John asked, finally having found his voice. Sherlock glanced back up at John.

"I haven't given much thought to it, why?" Sherlock said. "It doesn't really matter."

"Well, yes, it does actually."

"Why? If the majority agrees on something, it is treated as truth. People will believe what they want to giving no regards to whether or not I believe it as well. It's simply fact, John."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the super short chapter. It just felt like a good place to leave off. I should have the next one up soon though! Keep an eye out for it! Review please!


	6. A Beautiful Chaos

A/N: So, just as an explanation, Sherlock and John were up extra early this morning, like woke up at about 5:00. John had to go into the practice for an emergency call, and Sherlock woke up as he was leaving. Neither could go back to sleep, so they just stayed up. Just a little background for you. Enjoy!

* * *

"I'm going to the lab."

"Want me to go with you?" John asked.

"No, thank you John." Sherlock said, as he picked his coat up and fluffed it before putting it on.

"It's fine, if you do want me to go, I mean." John said. "I don't have anything planned."

" 'No, thank you,' is generally considered as a phrase implying that the person who is currently speaking does not want the service offered."

"Al- alright then..." John said. Confused by Sherlock's unusual sharpness with him. "I guess- I guess I'll just stay and make a cuppa. Maybe invite Mrs. Hudson up for tea later once she wakes ."

"What you do in my absence is of no consequence to me." Sherlock said, wrapping his scarf around his neck tightly.

"Sherlock..." John began, but had no idea what to say.

"I'm not mad at you, John, no." Sherlock said. "If that's what you're wondering. I apologize for anything I've done leading you to believe I was. I just- " Sherlock breathed out. He rubbed his temples.

"-I need to think." Sherlock said. He immediately exited the room and shut the door.

John sighed, and sat down in his chair, wondering if things would ever get back to normal.

The world of Sherlock's emotions was much larger and much more tangled up than he was expecting. It didn't seem to have been tended to much. Ever.

John got up and made himself a cup of tea then settled back down in his chair. John decided to go through what he knew about Sherlock. In his mind, he thought of all of Sherlock's favorite foods (Or rather, the foods he would actually eat), all of tiny, almost imperceptible tics that could tell you what he was thinking, all the different 'Hmm's of the Sherlockian language. John had yet to learn the entire Sherlockian language, but he had already learned to identify over 47 different types of 'hmm's. John realized just how strange it was that he knew all this about Sherlock, but also just how necessary to live with him it was. What's more, John liked to think that he had helped to make Sherlock a bit better of a person. With John around, Sherlock had at least a few manners, and he wasn't entirely reckless anymore (though still mostly, even Sherlock would admit.)

 _I should write a book about Sherlock._ John decided. He thought awhile before settling on a title.

 ** _"How to Train Your not-so-Sociopathic High-functioning Sociopath."_**

John chuckled aloud at the hilariousness, as well as at how astonishingly applicable it title was. The name was a mouthful, but it seemed to fit well.

John reflected on the amount of chaos moving into 221b had caused in his life. A lot. But the thing was, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Sherlock was a pain. That much was decided. He was also quite often annoying, inconsiderate, and irritating. But he was also quite caring, protective, and fiercely loyal. John trusted him to keep his back in many life threatening situations, and Sherlock hadn't let him down.

Sherlock was sometimes thoughtful, in his own interesting, if unusual way. He seemed to be concerned when John got hurt, and he never hesitated to help clean John up. Sherlock had stitched John's injuries many times, just as John had stitched Sherlock's.

Both of them had many scars. John's from the war, Sherlock's... John liked to think of what they were doing now in London. A war of fighting for justice and peace. Or lack of boredom in Sherlock's case.

But either way, it was a war, and one that would not end no matter how long they kept fighting.

Sherlock had always said that heroes don't exist, and even if they did, he wouldn't be one of them.

John had to disagree.

While Sherlock claimed that the reason he solved cases was just to prevent boredom, John knew better. He saw past that.

There was something about Sherlock, something about him that was so obvious to John, yet he couldn't put a name to it.

Maybe it a was secret maturity hidden among a sea of immaturity, or perhaps a wider view of the grand scheme of things than given to the average human, or a greater understanding of just how small and insignificant each and every one of us really are. It was one of these things, or perhaps a mix of a thousand different things that made Sherlock so different from every other person on earth. What ever it was, it gave Sherlock a peace at watching the world, knowing he could change it, but not really.

But the same thing that gave him peace, also frustrated him to no end. There was nothing he could do that would change things entirely. There was no magic button he could press no matter how hard he tried to find one. He could investigate, inspect, solve, and protect as much as was humanly possible, but there would always come a time when he made a mistake, or when he was too late. There would always be times when he would fail.

The conflicting feelings in relation to that failure were what gave him the view he had. In his mind, the failure was both so large and so small in his view.

It was that chaos, that brilliance, as well as slight insanity that made Sherlock Holmes who he was.

He was frustrated with just how little his actions mattered, but bound and determined to affect as much as he could.

Sherlock's existence was a lonely one. No matter how much he tried to explain what he saw to John, to Mycroft, to Lestrade, they would never understand him. It was this that caused his ambition, as well as his madness. This prompted him to try and make the world make sense. But the world never would, and he knew it, so he settled for trying to make it more beautiful.

He saw the complex and ever changing patterns of the world as artwork, while at the same appreciating the underlying simple, enduring patterns which made up the foundation of human existence.

Both were beautiful on their own, but Sherlock liked to make them a little more interesting.

He knew how much of an impact each solved case made on his clients' lives. He knew how the closure would help them adjust to their new, changed lives.

He wrote the end of the melody started by the criminal.

He left no symphony he found unfinished.

Sherlock wasn't an angel, that much was positive, **but he was on the side of them.**

* * *

A/N: Woah, that turned deep. Oops. Well, I hope you liked it! I got the idea for the book title off of pinterest, but I made a slight tweak, so I can claim only part of the credit for that. The next chapter will have Molly in it, and I promise it will be very, very **_i_** _ **nteresting**_! Reviews please!


	7. No Reason to Panic

A/N: I made a slight adjustment to the previous chapter, so if you'd go back and read the author's note, that should bring you up to date on it. If you're too lazy to do that (like I would be) then the change is, in short, all of that occurred early morning. Very early morning. If you want the longer explanation, please go read the author's note. Thank you, and Enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock relished the cool crispness of the Winter air. It stung his face with a pleasant pain, and it was at that moment that he decided to walk to St. Bart's instead of taking a cab as he had originally intended. So many things, emotions, were passing through his brain. They were moving quickly enough that he didn't have time to process them and understand them. This resulted in Sherlock attempting to turn them off. It didn't work. Not like it usually did. John's words were on repeat in his mind. John had already apologized. Why did John apologize? The things he had said were true. As much as Sherlock wished they weren't that fact would never change. Sherlock had tried in the past to be normal. He really did, but he just wasn't. If being normal meant not experimenting on dead pigs with harpoons, then Sherlock didn't want to be normal. He wanted to be different. But, though he would never admit it, it did hurt, just the tiniest bit, to be a misfit where ever he went.

Sherlock brushed these thoughts from his mind and started off walking. He had learned to love the little things in life. How the ice cold air felt when he breathed it into his lungs, how it looked when he breathed it out. It was fascinating to him how something previously invisible, became visible in just a few short seconds. He knew the chemistry behind it, of course, he knew the 'how.' It was the 'why' that intrigued him. Why was it that the Chemistry happened as it did. This gave him a constant wonder about everything. An insatiable curiosity. But there were bigger things to think of as of now.

 _Case. Case. Case. Think about the case._ Sherlock thought. _There is a case, Sherlock!_

 ** _But John's not here..._** said the other side of his mind, the feeling side.

 _That doesn't matter, I've solved them without him before, and I most definitely will again,_ supplied the first half. _Now if you excuse me, you illogical idiot, I've got a missing child to find._

It was actually not all that unusual for Sherlock to insult himself within the protective depths of his own mind. In fact, he often did it when he decided he wasn't thinking quickly enough. It didn't speed him up of course, but it made his lack of speed feel justified.

 _Case. Case. Case._ Sherlock went over what he had figured out in his mind, piecing together the pieces of the puzzle as he walked. Everything made sense, it looked like he had all the pieces, and they all fit together perfectly. But there was something nagging at him, chewing the back of his mind that told him something wasn't quite right. Telling him that there was more to the case than met the eye. He was still missing something. Something big.

He walked into the doors of the empty morgue. It was dark. He could have turned on the lights, but he left it. There were slivers of light coming from in between the slats on the window shades, and it was still light enough to see. He shrugged off his coat and lay it over chair. The only noise heard was the sound of the rollers of the body cabinet, as he pulled out the missing child's father. Sherlock unzipped the bag and pulled it down. He searched the body for any clue he might have missed the first time. He went over every square inch of the body with his pocket magnifier, leaving no spot uninvestigated.

Sherlock sighed. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not an oddly placed bruise, or strange scab in sight. Nothing underneath the finger nails, or toe nails, nothing in the scalp, there was nothing. Not a thing he hadn't seen last time.

He stood there staring at the body, deducing it. He hoped letting his mind wander might produce some brilliant burst of insight. But none came. There was nothing there.

 _But there has to be!_ Sherlock thought. _There has to be something! No crime is unsolvable._

He continued observing it, going over it again, and again, and again with his eyes.

 _There must be something. There must be something. There must be something. Why can't I think!?_

Sherlock nearly had himself in a panic. He couldn't find anything. There was nothing. Not a single thing.

But there was something. In his mind. Playing with it. Something was toying with the back of his mind, making him unable to think clearly as usual. He felt as if he had music playing in the back of his mind. It was just barely loud enough to notice, but not loud enough to figure out what song it was. It was like that. But he knew it wasn't music. What was it?! It was gnawing at brain, it wouldn't let him loose. He couldn't get away from it, it was his mind, but he couldn't find it either, he just knew it was there. Sherlock felt fear and frustration building up in his mind, along with anger and helplessness. It was **his** mind, there **had** to be a way for him to stop it. But what ever this was, it wasn't in his mind palace, everything was in order there. It was outside of it, surrounding it. Sherlock felt like he was drowning in a lake and couldn't swim back up for a breath of air. His lungs began acting appropriately. No matter how deep of breaths he took, it never felt like he took anything in. His chest was heaving but there was no relief.

 _Idiot! You're not underwater! You're not drowning!_ Sherlock's mind told him. It felt like he was.

A pain came to his chest, a sharp one, tearing through his body. It pulsed throughout him, the word **_'nothing'_** coming with it every time. He felt his body shaking, trembling, as if he were operating heavy machinery. His fingertips tingled, and he felt a drop of cold sweat drip down the side of his face. Everything felt surreal, as if it was happening around him, but he wasn't a part of it. His heart raced.

Sherlock recognized this, it was something he had read somewhere. What was it called? Oh yes, a panic attack. Hmm... Why was he panicking again?

 **He had no clue.**

 _If there's no reason to panic,_ Sherlock thought. T _here's no reason I can't calm myself down._

This thought alone gave him peace of mind, and he began calming down. Every bit of this was in his head. Panic was a common weakness in humans, along with anxiety, which was often the precursor to panic. Sometimes humans just stupidly did it on their own for absolutely no reason. Sherlock preferred to picture it as the same thing as testing tornado sirens. His body was making sure it would react right if the time ever came for it to happen for a reason. Sure, it wasn't scheduled, but it was a good enough explanation for now, Sherlock decided.

He turned his attention back to the body, examining it for what felt like the thousandth time. What ever it was, what ever he was missing, he would find it.

"I'm surprised you're here." Molly said. "You don't usually come in this early."

Sherlock turned and looked at Molly, slightly surprised to see her standing right behind him. In his concentration, he must not have processed the clicking sound of a type of shoes made distinctly for females. Noticed, yes, but it hadn't seemed important enough to consciously think about. She had caught him off guard. Interesting.

Molly set her bag down next to the chair Sherlock's coat was on.

"You and John must have been up awfully early this morning." Molly continued. When Sherlock didn't answer, she turned back to him.

"Are you alright?" Molly said. "You look a little peaky."

"Fine, Molly." Sherlock said, forcing his mouth to obey his command to speak. "Just..."

* * *

A/N: Alright, so I thought an appropriate response to emotional stress to Sherlock would be to dive into his work. It would be something he knew well, and something that would calm him. But all that stuff with John is still playing in the back of his head. So, the question is now, will Sherlock tell Molly how he's really been feeling? Will he tell her about that little episode of panic he had just before he arrived? **Review please!**


	8. Calm Amid the Storm

"What is it Sherlock?" Molly asked, gently.

"It's nothing, it's just..." Sherlock hesitated, looking for a way to phrase his thought. "All the pieces are here, and they fit, but I still... I feel... like I'm missing something..."

Molly tried not to show her surprise at Sherlock's use of the word 'feel'.

"My mind understands exactly what happened, why it happened, how it happened, and when it happened, but something's just... off." Sherlock said. "I can't help but think that there's something about this case, something big about it, that's just staring me in the face. That it's so close to my eyes that I can't see it clearly."

"How long have you been working on this?" Molly asked.

Sherlock looked back at the clock on the wall. It read 7:45am. That didn't tell him much however, because he hadn't bothered to check when he'd came.

"I don't know, a couple of hours?" Sherlock said.

"No." Molly said. "That's not what I meant. Let me rephrase, how long has this been bothering you?"

Sherlock looked at Molly. He sighed, and rubbed his temples.

"Days." He admitted.

"Maybe you should take a break from it then? Come back at it again from a different angle?" Molly suggested.

Sherlock's blood ran cold.

"No."

He realized he had answered much too quickly, enough so to cause suspicion.

 _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ If Sherlock could have paused time and slapped himself he would have. _Now she's going to inquire more! Doesn't she realize that it'll just make it worse?! No, of course she doesn't, she doesn't even know something's wrong! But there's not anything wrong, so what would she have to find out? But I can't deal with John right now. That just can't happen. Stupid conflicting unnecessary emotions! I need a solution. A cover up. Why can't I think!?_

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock forced himself back to reality, only to realize that his body was once again showing signs of panic.

 _No. Not again._ Sherlock thought. _Not in front of Molly._

As much as he had liked to think he had had the attack under control, it had actually scared him quite a bit.

 _You got it under control last time, you can get it this time too._ Sherlock thought.

But he couldn't get his mouth to respond this time. It wouldn't say anything. His mind started over loading again, images, sounds, facts rushing through his brain at record speed. His heart began racing once again, and he could feel it pounding in his chest.

 _Stop. It._ He thought desperately.

These signs weren't visible from the outside. He was merely motionless.

His brain was moving so fast he was no longer able to even figure out what it was he was thinking. It was as if someone else was controlling his mind, making it go faster and faster and faster.

 **Then it stopped.**

 **"** _Angles."_ Sherlock whispered.

"What?" Molly asked, withdrawing her hand from his.

"Angles! That's it!" Sherlock said. "Thank you Molly! You're brilliant!" He grabbed her shoulders shaking her, grinning with excitement.

"Angles!" He said. He was nearly jumping for joy.

He quickly made his way to the door and was already opening it when Molly stopped him.

"Sherlock, your coat!"

"Right!" Sherlock nodded.

Sherlock came back and took his coat from Molly, with that expression he only gets when he's figured something out.

He started walking back towards the door, but then paused for a moment, his face sobering to a sweet, calm smile. It was an expression Molly had never seen before, but it fit his face well, and Molly had never seen him look more beautiful.

"You've helped me so much today, and in more ways than you'll ever know." Sherlock said. "Thank you."

He looked at her a moment before raising a hand to the side of her face, caressing it ever so gently.

"Thank you." He repeated quietly, then kissed her softly on the cheek.

He smiled at her, then walked out into the hallway and exited the building.

* * *

A/N: Alright, for those who missed it, what stopped Sherlock's brain was Molly slipping her hand into Sherlock's in an attempt at comforting him. Oh, and did you like the bit about how Sherlock was already doubting himself before John said all those mean things? He already felt like he was missing something, and John's tirade did no good to help his confidence. So, just so you understand, when Sherlock was playing his violin, he was actually trying to calm himself down. He was already working himself up because he couldn't figure out the case.

This was for you, Mrs. Erik Massenet, as well as you, Tessa Theresa. I hope you enjoyed it, because I loved writing it. It went a little further than I had originally thought it would, but you know how it is. You just write what comes out. You write what fits, and what feels good. I have decided that Molly will appear in later chapters as well. Thank you all so much for the continued support, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I look forward to putting the next one up soon.


	9. John Watson, Invader

John sighed. Sherlock had left at about 5:30 this morning, and still wasn't back at 10:00. John wished he knew where Sherlock was.

Hmm... He may as well go locate that smell that had been bothering him all morning. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for one of Sherlock's unattended experiments (usually the ones he declared "boring") to start to smell. He did experiment on human body parts, and they didn't always make it to the freezer.

John followed his nose, and to his alarm and surprise found that the odor was not coming from the kitchen, but rather Sherlock's room.

Sherlock had never been all that good at keeping the flat clean, but he generally kept his bedroom relatively clean.

John wasn't allowed in Sherlock's room often, as Sherlock was an intensely private person. John couldn't help but be curious exactly what he kept in those desk drawers, and searching for the smell would be the perfect excuse.

John had his mischievous side, and it wasn't like he was lying, he was searching for the smell...

John looked to the stair well of the flat, then out the window. No Sherlock in sight.

John felt oddly triumphant as he opened the door to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock always said that if you wait until the right opportunity, you can get into anything.

John gauged Sherlock's response to if he caught John in there.

If Sherlock **wasn't** insanely angry at John for invading his privacy, then he **would** be very proud of John for recognizing the opportunity.

 _So... neutral?_ John thought hopefully. He knew Sherlock's reaction would probably be the first he had thought of.

 _So I make this quick._

As soon as John stepped past the door way, he got a feeling that he shouldn't be there. However, the smell got much stronger, and John knew that if he was ever going to rid the flat of it, he'd have to go in, because there was no way Sherlock would bother to look for it.

John decided that he must continue on his quest.

He looked on Sherlock's book shelves, where his experiments usually were. He found a few, but none of them seemed to be the source of the smell.

He investigated under Sherlock's bed, and was surprised to find absolutely nothing there. Sherlock had a surprisingly small amount of things in his room, and almost all of what was there was in plain sight. John checked Sherlock's closet for the smell, but found only neatly ironed shirts and perfectly pressed trousers, as well as an ironing board. John wondered when Sherlock was in his room long enough to iron his shirts. John checked the top of the closet, and again found nothing.

Two more places to check.

After the night table yielded nothing, John set about going through the drawers of Sherlock's desk.

There were only stacks of case files and several ink pens on top of it, so he looked through the drawers. Nothing there either. On the other side of the desk, there were some shelves that had books on them. John knelt beside them and read the names on the spine of them.

'Inspector Greg Lestrade'

'Mrs. Hudson'

'Miss Molly Hooper'

'Dr. John H. Watson'

'Me'

Out of curiosity, John pulled down the one titled with his name. He opened it and immediately recognized Sherlock's beautiful hand writing.

When Sherlock was in a hurry, his hand writing came out as a hieroglyphic scrawl, but when he wasn't he actually had very, very good penmanship. John occasionally wondered if Sherlock had studied calligraphy, as the way he wrote his letters often resembled it. John came to the conclusion that Sherlock probably had at some point for the purpose of a case.

John read the first page.

 _'January 28, 2010_

 _Entry 1._

 _Day 1._

 ** _John H. Watson_**

 _\- Thirty five to forty years old_

 _-Army Doctor_

 _-Went to Afghanistan_

 _-Shot in the shoulder_

 _-Has PTSD_

 _-Has psychosomatic limp_

 _-Friendly, social_

 _-Unusually fond of jumpers_

 _-Potential flat mate_

 ** _Place of meeting:_**

 _Mike Stamford and he were mates in school. They saw each other after 10+ years at the park and took him to meet me at the laboratory at St. Bart's hospital.  
_

 ** _Reason for meeting:_**

 _Stamford seemed to think that Dr. Watson and I would make good flat mates._

 ** _Notes:_**

 _Going to show him the flat tomorrow at 10:00 am. I need to clean up a bit. At least I'll have to take the intestines off the table. Also get upstairs bedroom prepared.'_

John flipped through the journal to see more entries about himself, experiments Sherlock had done on him without him even noticing.

Sherlock had recorded exactly how much John's intake of tea increased depending on the difficulty of the case, exactly what angle John seemed to prefer his coffee cup, how long between the times John required sleep and sustenance, and how many times Sherlock could complain before John became annoyed.

There were also a little less scientific entries, such as how John preferred his tea (no sugar or creme) and which songs Sherlock played on his violin that he liked most. Sherlock also stated that there was one particular song that Sherlock would play when John had nightmares, because it seemed to help them stop.

 _'He also seems to like it when I ask him how things went at his practice, after he gets off of work. Texting him while he's working seems to be not good unless it's very important, in which case texting John is vital for him not to get angry.'_ John read.

Some sketches of John with different facial expressions were in the note book, describing exactly how John's face would change depending on what emotion he was feeling.

' _Eyebrows lower and eyes squint when angry.'_

 _'Eyes widen and mouth parts slightly when surprised. Often accompanied by his calling my name. (Continue study on this later)'_

John continued reading for awhile, and skipped the books titled 'Molly', 'Lestrade', and 'Mrs. Hudson' as he guessed they held similar things. He opened the book titled 'Me'.

It occurred to him that he ought not to read this one, but his curiosity over ruled any common sense he had.

It seemed that Sherlock had recorded his thoughts on certain things, as well as his body's response to it.

 _So this is how he avoids showing emotion..._ John realized. _He learned how he reacts to different things, and watches himself for those specific reactions._

Sherlock also recorded that he seemed to have an unusual level of sentiment for both Molly and John after meeting them only once.

' _After only one meeting, I felt as though I were accepted by Dr. Watson, just as it was with Molly Hooper.'_ John read. ' _I rarely miss anyone, but I seem to always look forward to the next time I see the both of them.'_

John continued reading and was so pulled into the words that he didn't notice the sound of someone walking into the flat.

After seeing a shadow coming over the book, John turned to see Sherlock standing in the door way of the room.

"John?" Sherlock said. "What are you doing?"

* * *

A/N: I know this may seem a little OOC for both of them, but John does have his mischievous side, and with how private Sherlock is about most things, he'd of course be curious. He would also justify himself with the fact that Sherlock often goes into John's room without asking and experiments on his jumpers. As for any OOC-ness on Sherlock's part, I just imagine him as treating his and others' emotions as something to study. He doesn't like to think about them much, so instead of storing them in his mind palace, he writes them down in one of his many journals about his findings on each person important to him. If he figures out John is angry with him, he would go and look through his 'John' book, and figured out which of the rules he had broken, and what the appropriate response was. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, and I look forward to posting the next chapter soon! Review please!


	10. I Don't Know You

John stared at Sherlock's form outlined in the light for a moment. For some reason it seemed to be taking a second to process the fact that, yes, Sherlock was standing there, and yes, Sherlock had caught John snooping about in his room.

"I was just- uh-" John stumbled for words as he stood up.

Sherlock walked towards him and saw the note book in John's hand. He snatched it from him and read the label.

The surprise on his face melted to hurt, then anger.

"Why are you in my room, John?" Sherlock said. "Why are you snooping around?"

"I was uh- uh-" John said. "I was looking for a smell."

"A smell?" Sherlock repeated. It was obvious that he didn't believe John.

"Yeah, don't you smell that?" John asked. "Smells like... paint." John realized this for the first time.

"You don't think that could possibly be because Mrs. Hudson is repainting her kitchen?" Sherlock said sharply.

"I didn't think of that... I forgot her kitchen is beneath your bedroom. The smell probably came up through the vents..."

"You don't say?" Sherlock said sarcastically.

Sherlock looked around.

"You apparently found it necessary to search my entire room, even though you could have followed the smell directly to its source."

"I..." John didn't have an answer to this one.

There was a tense silence, and Sherlock walked towards the door after taking a deep breath.

He was about to leave the room when John spoke.

"You're always so private..." he said. "Can you really blame me for wondering about you? Wondering what's going on in that big head of yours every time we go on a case? What you do when you're alone? You knew almost everything about me from just one glance, and you filled in the rest so quickly..."

John paused, then finished.

"But I can't read people like you do." John said. "You keep every single _important_ thought, opinion, and feeling all crunched up inside you."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"I don't know you, Sherlock." John said. "Not really."

* * *

A/N: So I know this is short, but this just seemed to be a good place to cut it off at. Since it's short, I'll probably have the next one up very, very soon. I can't wait to write more! So, anyway, **_Reviews please!_**


	11. Born During Hardship

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, hesitating.

"Did it ever occur to you, that you might not want to?"

Sherlock looked at John once more before exiting the room.

He walked into the living room and grabbed his violin. He started to play, his fingers roaming the strings without a specific song in mind. Improvisation, as it was.

It was a simple tune, but it had a depth to it that was heard by all. There was a complexity in its simplicity, one that could not be described or explained.

John was left standing in Sherlock's room, alone, as Sherlock played the melancholy song.

It nearly brought him to tears just thinking about the mess he'd made with all this.

He'd tried to fix things, but all he had succeeded in doing was make them worse.

 _I've betrayed Sherlock's trust twice and he hates me now, how could it get any worse?_ He complained mentally.

 _Quite easily,_ His mind supplied.

John groaned, and put his head in his hands.

After wallowing in self pity for a moment, he walked out into the kitchen.

He put the kettle on for tea, and made two cups. He fixed one for Sherlock, and one for himself.

While it was steeping, he tried to figure out how to apologize.

All too soon, the tea was done steeping, and he still had no clue how to start.

 _I'll just have to wing it._ John thought. _I hope I don't do anything stupid. But I probably will._

John walked into the room, and walked up behind Sherlock and stood there, staring at the floor until he stopped playing.

"I- I'm sorry." John said, as he held out the cuppa. "It was wrong for me to snoop through your things without asking, even if I was curious, and even if I was looking for a smell. It was stupid, and inconsiderate of me. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Sherlock looked at him a moment before accepting the cup.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, John." Sherlock sighed, as he sat down. "Just know that I keep my thoughts inside my mind for a reason."

"You said that earlier, or something similar..." John said, following Sherlock's lead and sitting in his usual chair. "What did you mean?"

"I meant you don't want to know what goes on inside my mind, if you often don't like what comes out of it." Sherlock said. "I know both, and I don't like either. I figure I best spare you the pain. Don't worry about missing something good about me. I already show you the only good parts there are. You know me as far as my contentment and my happiness extends."

John considered Sherlock's words for a moment before coming to a decision. He took a moment to figure out how to explain his thoughts.

"Paintings are often of war, or fighting. Songs are written during those as well. The most beautiful works of art, the masterpieces are the ones born during hardship..." John said. "People are the same way. The other side of you may be dark and hard, but if you share with me the good side, it's only fair that I bear part of the other side as well."

* * *

A/N: And there you see John's philosophical side! Hope you enjoyed it! I'm so happy that John finally apologized to Sherlock, and Sherlock accepted it! There's still more to happen though... Will Sherlock take John's cue and reveal the other side of himself? Or will he become defensive once again? Will he close down again? Or will he open up? **Reviews please!**


	12. Twists and Turns

A confused expression twisted its way onto Sherlock's face.

"Why would you want to?"

"I want to know you Sherlock." John said. "All of you. Not just the good parts."

"Why?"

"Because you're my friend." John said, now becoming confused himself.

"Why?"

John frowned. This was getting excessive. Couldn't Sherlock just accept the fact that he was John's friend? Why did he have to analyze everything?

"Because you just are." John said. "I don't know why. I don't care why, and it shouldn't to you either. You're my friend Sherlock, through the thick and thin, and it would be very, very hard for you to change that."

There was a knock on the door.

"This conversation is not over." John said sternly, as he got up to answer it. Sherlock followed him.

John opened the door and Lestrade appeared.

He looked somber and unhappy.

"What's going on?" John asked. "Something about the case?"

Lestrade nodded, "There- there's been another victim. A little boy, 8 years old." Lestrade continued, staring at his feet. "We've reopened the case."

Though John couldn't see him, he could feel that Sherlock had walked away from him. He turned to see Sherlock pacing.

"I knew there was something..." Sherlock said.

"What do you mean?" John asked. "How could you have known?"

"It just- I just-" Sherlock hesitated. "Something didn't feel right about it. I felt like I was missing something, so I went back and examined the body again and found nothing I hadn't before. But something Molly said triggered an idea, and I went back to the scene to check something. It didn't add up. I was going to call, but I had left my phone back at the flat. Then John and I had... a discussion. I got distracted and forgot. How long has the boy been dead?"

"We're not sure. We're getting conflicting indicators." Lestrade said. "We're dealing with someone who knows what they're doing."

Sherlock paused, tilting his head slightly. He was silent for a moment before looking up at John.

"Of course-" Sherlock breathed. "I should have seen it! Why didn't I see it!" As he went on he got increasingly more agitated.

"John we've got to go now." Sherlock said, grabbing John's coat off the hook as well as his own. "I think I know who did this, and we can catch him soon if I'm right, but I've got to be sure. I can't mess this up again. Lead the way Greg."

Lestrade nodded swiftly and walked out the door. Sherlock and John followed immediately.

As they walked John could hear Sherlock mumbling something to himself over, and over, and over. Listening closely, he managed to make it out.

 _Think. Think. Think. Think._

* * *

A/N: What's this? Sherlock called Lestrade by the right first name again? Wow! And what a turn around! A simple open-shut case of a married woman and her boyfriend killing her husband, to a double homicide! Golly, what will happen next?! A short chapter, I know, but the next will be longer, I promise! Reviews please!


	13. The Known, and The Unknown

Sherlock walked up to the scene with John and Lestrade in tow. His lengthiness of his legs caused John and Lestrade to have to jog to keep up.

Sherlock stopped just after the entrance stood for a minute, then slowly walked forward, towards the child's body.

* * *

Sherlock gazed around the scene, his senses taking in every bit of its existence. All sound faded away into the distance, and time seemed to slow down.

He walked slowly up to the body, feeling as though if he tread too heavily the world would all come rushing back to him.

He looked up again, his eyes going over all the lights and cars, over the yellow crime scene tape and over the people. It all seemed blurry, unfocused.

He looked back down at the body. Everything that was important was perfectly clear. His mind had highlighted these things and drowned everything else out so he could focus on what was needed.

Sherlock felt a pressure on his shoulder, and looked over slightly to see John's hand resting on it.

 _"You alright?"_ He could hear John's words, but he felt as if he were hearing them from a long ways away.

 _"Could- could you clear every one out?"_ Sherlock did not feel as though he had spoken, and thought for a moment that he had simply thought the words, but apparently he had spoken, as the pressure was removed from his body and John answered.

 _"Yeah, sure."_

Sherlock could feel the room clearing around him, but he remained still, processing any new information that was revealed as people walked away.

He felt the temperature change ever so slightly and he could feel the gentle breeze biting through his coat, no longer being blocked by the barrier of people.

In his mind's eye he saw the scene from various angles, without even needing to move. The world tilted in his view, not out of control, but in the exact way he wanted it to.

He could feel John walk up behind him once again.

 _"Do you want us to get out too, or-"_ John asked.

 _"Stay."_ Sherlock said.

John was the one thing linking Sherlock to the real world, the one exit from his own mind.

Sherlock sat in the middle of the scene, and images flashed before his eyes. They were scenarios, different possibilities as to how things could have taken place. How the child could have been murdered.

He saw them, both of them, child and murderer, standing there before him. As his mind ran through all the possibilities, the murderer's appearance began to change, adjusting to fit what must have happened. He tried out everything that came to mind, tried to piece everything together as if it were a great puzzle he hadn't yet managed to solve. He kept searching, sorting through his mind to find an answer. He didn't need _how it could have happened,_ he needed, _how it did happen_.

Fantasy wasn't important, this wasn't some fairy tale. This was reality. Cold, hard reality. Behind every murder was a motive, and behind every robbery a reason.

No one did these things just because. There was a reason. Always a reason.

But at the moment, Sherlock could find no motive. He couldn't find a reason that someone would murder an 8 year old little boy with curly brown hair for absolutely no reason.

 _No reason._

 _Absolutely no reason._

Sherlock repeated this in his mind several times. He wasn't sure why that phrase had stuck in his mind, so he repeated it mentally again and again, trying to find the significance to it.

The murder appeared to be random, as the child had no connection with the previous murder, and they couldn't find a time of death because they had gotten conflicting information. They hadn't even figured exactly who the child was, the age was merely a guess. The only thing that proved the two cases were linked was that the killer had left a note, taking responsibility for the previous murder.

 _But why would he do that?_

 _Who would be stupid enough to claim a murder you could have gotten away with?_

 _Why claim it after someone else has already been charged with it?_

The thoughts bounced around his head in an endless circle.

Every thing about this seemed to be uncertain, and yet the previous had seemed so certain.

 _Opposites._

 _Complete and total opposites._

 _Known and the unknown_

 _Dark and light_

 _Morning and night_

 _Away, and at home_

 _With someone, and alone_

 _The murders were opposites._

They weren't just murders, they were messages.

But who would send a message in such a needlesslyviolent way?

The only person who possibly could have- but no- he was dead- gone.

Sherlock had watched him put a bullet through his own mouth.

 ** _Moriarty._**

* * *

A/N: Apparently this takes place after season two. I actually hadn't decided that until now, but alright, I can go with this. So did Moriarty actually survive? How in the world did he manage to do that? Sherlock watched him die, how could someone trick Sherlock Holmes? Is that even possible? Reviews please! Tell me how I did!


	14. You Don't Remember that? Not Any of it?

John heard Sherlock's breath catch in his throat.

"Are you alright?" John asked. "What is it?"

" _ **Moriarty**_."

* * *

"But I thought he was dead!? Gone!? The whole shazam!?" John protested as he got into the cab.

"So did I, but that's the only explanation." Sherlock said. "When you have eliminated the impossible, what ever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"But Sherlock!" John said. "Come on he's dead!"

"What do you think happened then?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know, maybe he's got a kid or something!"

"John, do try to stop humiliating yourself." Sherlock said.

Sherlock turned to the driver.

"221b Baker Street, please."

"It is possible..." John said.

"It is." Sherlock agreed. "But less likely."

"Less likely than him surviving a bullet wound to the head?" John asked.

"Moriarty is extra crazy with a dash of insane maniac on the side, I think we'd both agree he's even worse than me." Sherlock said. "Who would put up with him?"

"No one."

"Exactly."

"It's still possible though." John muttered to himself.

Sherlock smiled, rolling his eyes a little.

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing, John." Sherlock said. "Nothing."

It was silent for part of the ride.

"So eh- how do we start investigating this?" John asked.

"Carefully, John, carefully."

"And carefully involves... what exactly?" John asked.

"Some research." Sherlock said. "I think there's more to this message than first becomes clear."

"Like what?" John asked.

"Not sure." Sherlock said. "But something. There's always something with him. Something to make the case just a little bit more memorable. I often get a nagging sense that all his crimes, all the cases, they're connected somehow. That he's leading up to something big. Bigger than he's ever done before."

"And you are sounding altogether too happy about that..." John said.

"Just think of it though... Think of all his crimes being linked, not random, but done for a reason. All done to show the world something, to send it a message. Or a display of just how far his power goes or-"

"I never should have introduced you to Doctor Who." John groaned. "Not everything is connected Sherlock!"

"Or maybe he's just keeping the public's attention while he works on scheming something much more sinister-"

"You're not even listening to me now." John said, resigning himself to the fact. "He's not listening to me now. Why did I think he would? He never listens. Not when he goes off on his rants. Well, I'm not going to listen to him either then. He's just talking to himself."

 _Just like me._ John realized. He groaned again.

"Sherlock!" John said, desperately trying to get the consulting detective's attention.

Sherlock just kept jabbering away, thinking aloud.

In the process of John trying to get Sherlock's attention, and Sherlock ignoring him and just talking to himself (John still wasn't listening) a car stopped suddenly in front of them and the cabbie slammed the breaks to avoid hitting them. John had been stupid and forgot to put on his seat belt, and yelped as his upper half flung forwards.

"John?" Sherlock asked. "Are you alright? Why are you leaning all the way up there?"

"The car in front of us that stopped suddenly, Sherlock?" John said.

"Yes, what about it?"

"You seriously don't know?" John asked in disbelief.

"I wouldn't be asking if I did." Sherlock said.

"It stopped quickly and the driver slammed on the breaks to stop us from hitting it. I was stupid and managed to forget my seat belt." John said. "You don't remember any of that? None at all?"

"Mmm... no. I was thinking." Sherlock said. "It must not be important enough to have broke my concentration."

"So what did then?" John asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well you're not thinking now." John said, something must have broken your concentration."

"Hmm..." Sherlock hummed, going back into his mind.

* * *

A/N: For those of who didn't quite understand what happened there, it was John's yelp of pain/shock that brought Sherlock out of his thoughts. It wasn't the slamming of the breaks itself. Wow, John must really mean a lot to him to register in his mind when a near collision of their cab with another didn't... I hope you enjoyed this humorous bit of my story. Please tell me in the reviews if you want me to keep having humor chapters here and there, or if you want me to stick to serious ones! Reviews please!


	15. We

_Think. I need to think._

Sherlock repeated this mantra over and over again in his mind.

This was one of the rare occasions when his mind was focused and he didn't want it to be.

In order to figure out what Moriarty was planning, and to make sure that it was, in fact, Moriarty, he needed to allow his mind to wander.

Sherlock wasn't entirely unlike Moriarty in his thought patterns, and thus could often rely upon himself to predict Moriarty's movements and decisions. perhaps that's why they were so well suited to each other as nemeses.

They were so alike, yet so different. They were practically the same person with different intentions.

Sherlock knew this, and accepted this openly. But what others didn't see was the fear that had befallen him upon the realization. The realization that he, Sherlock Holmes, was capable of causing so much damage, so much chaos, if only he so chose. It scared him. Terrified him. He was good enough about hurting others on accident, just how badly could he hurt them if he was doing it on purpose?

Though he hated thinking thoughts such as these, he allowed them to flow over his mind along with anything else that would come. Moriarty's mind wasn't as organized as Sherlock's. That was why his schemes were so creative, as well as seemingly impulsive. Moriarty always had a plan, but it was so random, so outside of the box, that it seemed like he had simply made it up as he went a long. But Sherlock knew better. Moriarty was him, only unrestrained. Moriarty was him without John, without Molly, without Mrs. Hudson, without Lestrade. Moriarty was Sherlock without the good influences in his life. No one put up with Moriarty.

Sherlock considered himself very lucky to have found people willing to put up with his eccentricities, but he sometimes wondered if they wouldn't be better off if they had never met him. John would be a successful, high ranking doctor somewhere, likely with a wife and kids and a clean refrigerator and microwave. Lestrade wouldn't have to deal with the witnesses that were considered traumatized after Sherlock interrogated them, and he might be in better standing with the chief of police. Mrs. Hudson would have a renter that didn't shoot holes in the wall or spray-paint yellow smiley faces on it, and Molly would likely have a boyfriend. All of them would be happy without him, he knew that, he wasn't that arrogant. The question wasn't ' _would they be happy?'_ it was whether or not they would be _happier_.

He knew what the answer was, then he also knew what he wished the answer was. He knew there was a solution, a simple one at that, but he was too selfish for that. He enjoyed Mrs. Hudson's biscuits too much, he enjoyed trading insults with Lestrade (though there wasn't much trading) he enjoyed going down to the morgue and visiting Molly when his mind was too full, he enjoyed just sitting with John in their chairs, eating Chinese take-out and watching the telly.

He loved the feeling of the wind on his face and his coat whooshing behind him as he chased after criminals, John hot on his tail, covering his back.

He could start over.

Move somewhere else entirely and start again, isolating himself more effectively.

Maybe it was selfish of him, but there were parts of his life now that he just loved too much to get rid of. Maybe he actually was a sociopath. Selfishness was a sociopathic trait, after all.

Sherlock sat, leaning against his bed with his knees up and his arms wrapped around them. He stared at the closed blinds on the window as he let thoughts take over his mind entirely. The room was cold, and it felt as if frost was creeping up his alabaster skin.

 _Moriarty is me._ Sherlock thought. _What do I want?_

 _I want John to be happy with me. I want Molly to be happy when I come to visit. I want to be able to tell people if, why, when, where, and how their loved ones were murdered. I want to learn. I want to understand people better, get a more complete world view. I want to see all the webs of society. I want to be understood._

 **Understood.**

Moriarty was showing the world the frantic happenings of his mind. He was showing them how he felt everyday. With everything so chaotic, so loud, demanding, and threatening. When he connects his murders in the slightest of ways, how his plots and schemes are so complex, yet barely simple enough to actually work, he's showing them how everything connects in his mind.

When he broke into the Tower of London and played with the crown jewels, he was showing them how people just seemed to attack him for no reason, showing no mercy. Even before he was a criminal master mind. When he was a child, he was most definitely subjected to the same, or very similar treatment that Sherlock was. Always ignored, and if not, made fun of. Isolated and left out every where he went, even among the adults, who were at a loss as to how to manage such a brilliant child. He, like Sherlock, believed he was alone in the world. The only person like him. It didn't bother him to be different from the majority, but it was... it was... lonely, so lonely, to know that anywhere you went you would be an outcast. Always the Freak.

Freak.

Sherlock hated that word; hated it with every bit of the essence of his being. He had been called it all his life, beginning when he was only five years old. He hadn't even known the meaning of the word then. The word felt worse than a stab to the abdomen, and he would know, as he had experienced both sensations. What was worse, the word fit so well, and he knew it. He fit every one of its definitions. He hated being a freak, but that's what he was and that would never change. Sherlock had learned to accept it, even embrace it. He knew it wouldn't change. Moriarty undoubtedly had been given a word to describe himself as well. Could he be doing the same? Embracing his word as well?

Maybe there weren't many differences between them after all.

Sherlock now realized that Moriarty, while not in the right, was expressing his frustration, his sadness, and loneliness in the only way he knew how. In a strange way, Sherlock almost felt as though Moriarty's actions were... justified.

All the normal people could express themselves easily enough, whether it was through yelling, screaming, crying, smiling, or other wise in the form of written or spoken words.

But it wasn't so simple for people like them.

Not even close.

The difference between them, Sherlock finally decided, was that Moriarty was braver than he was.

 _In this, all of this, he was just trying to show the world what nightmare we live in every day._ Sherlock paused, breathing out slowly.

 _We **.**_

* * *

A/N: _**We.** _ Have you ever read a word that sent more chills down your spine than this one? Review please.


	16. Tea, and Advice

John sat in his chair, sipping at a cuppa and reading a book.

Sherlock had been in his room for several hours now, doing nothing as far as John could tell.

John had peeked into the room a while ago, just making sure he was alright.

It was dark, the shaded window the only thing emitting light, and even then only a halo around the edges.

He walked a little further into the room and saw Sherlock leaning against the edge of his bed, staring at the window.

John stood there a moment, watching him. He wasn't moving, wasn't making any noise, just sitting there. Staring.

He debated on asking Sherlock if he was alright. Generally, when he was thinking he wasn't in his bedroom in the dark.

"Sherlock?" John whispered.

No response.

 _Well, no news is good news, right?_ John sighed. _Not always with Sherlock._

John walked back into the living room, closing the door gently.

He went back to his cuppa and book, but after a while he found he wasn't actually reading the book, he was thinking about Sherlock.

John couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on with Sherlock than he could see.

He knew that his calling him freak had hurt him, but things seemed to have mostly gone back to normal since that. Sherlock seemed to have forgiven him, and there wasn't even really a formal apology.

Then John had to go and snoop through Sherlock's belongings. And get caught.

John sensed that Sherlock was still angry about that, but more than being angry, he seemed to dread the rest of the conversation that John had said would continue.

 _What is he so afraid of?_ John repeated this thought over, and over in his mind, trying to find the answer.

* * *

John looked up at the clock, the one that Sherlock had not managed to shoot as of yet, and realized he had been pondering for half of an hour already.

He still didn't have the answer.

Sherlock hadn't come out of his room yet.

 _Stop worrying._ John thought. _He's just thinking. He's fine._

John drained the rest of his, now cold, cuppa.

John looked at the door, then looked at his coat. He didn't want to go on a walk, he was a little more conscious of the temperature than Sherlock is.

He wouldn't go for a walk during the winter, just for the sake of walking that is.

No, he had a better idea.

He walked down the stairs and knocked softly on Mrs. Hudson's door.

He could hear the pitter patter of her small feet on the floor as she went to answer.

"John..." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Mrs. Hudson, can I come in?"

"Of course. I'll be right back. I made too much tea for myself this morning, might as well use it up." Mrs. Hudson said. She walked into her kitchen, which was still smelled a little like paint, though not nearly as strong as it had before.

"What a dreadful smell isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson said, as John sat down on her sofa.

"The paint?" John asked. Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"They lied on the can where they said odorless, if I didn't know any better I'd say that the scent is stronger than with ordinary paint!"

Mrs. Hudson sat next to John on the sofa, handing him the cuppa.

"Now, what's the problem, dear?"

"It's- Wait- How did you know-?" John paused, confused.

"How did I know there was a problem, dear?" Mrs. Hudson said. "Quite simply, you're down here, I didn't hear any explosions, and Sherlock's not with you. It's a simple enough deduction, even Anderson could do it."

"And you, have been around Sherlock too long." John sighed.

"Well, so have you." Mrs. Hudson said.

John tilted his head, then nodded in agreement.

He did seem to have started to analyzing things more thoroughly, and paying more attention to detail. He had to admit, he was actually learning a bit of deduction himself, just by being around Sherlock you could pick up the basics.

"So, what's the problem?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"He's not acting normal, but he doesn't seem to be angry with me anymore, and I don't know what's wrong." John said.

"Hmm... This is a pretty stressful case... Do you think he might just be worried about it?" Mrs. Hudson said.

"Maybe that's part of it, but there's something else. He's had more stressful ones, but he's never acted like this before."

"What is he doing, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"He's sitting in his room right now, in the dark, staring at his window." John said. "He didn't answer me when I called to him."

"Strange..." Mrs. Hudson said. "I'm sure he'll be alright though, he is Sherlock after all, he can bounce back from anything."

John and Mrs. Hudson looked to the door as they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Sherlock opened the door to the flat and walked in, looking distracted.

* * *

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going out." Sherlock said.

"Where?" John asked. "When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure, but I shouldn't be too long." Sherlock said, "As for where, I haven't decided yet."

There was a short silence, and Sherlock could feel John looking him in the eyes, as well as see it.

 _He knows I'm lying._ Sherlock thought. _But he doesn't know who I'm meeting, or where I'm meeting them..._

John sighed, and for a moment Sherlock was afraid that he'd say that he wanted to go with him.

"Just... don't do anything stupid, and call me if you get into a scrape." John said. "If you're not back within two hours, I am going to look for you."

Sherlock turned towards the door to leave, then heard John's voice once again.

"And Sherlock..."

Sherlock paused, but did not turn around.

"Stop hiding things from me. Please. It scares me."

Sherlock walked out the door.

* * *

A/N: So... How'd you like that? John going to Mrs. Hudson for advice? Then, before she could give him it, Sherlock shows up, still acting strangely, only to tell John that he's going somewhere... But where is he going? Reviews please!


	17. Not Again

Sherlock walked across the roof top, to the place in which Moriarty was waiting. The same place he had been right before the fall. Sitting there, playing a different song this time.

 _Counting Stars, by OneRepublic._ Sherlock thought. _John made me listen to it awhile back... Don't remember why..._

"Familiar, isn't it?" Moriarty said. "This? Just you and me, together, on top this very same roof. Didn't turn out too well, did it?"

"I'm not here for a fight." Sherlock said. "I... I wanted to ask you something."

Moriarty's face twisted in confusion.

"Yes?"

"What was your word?" Sherlock said.

Moriarty paused, and was about to speak when Sherlock prevented him.

"You do know, exactly what I'm talking about." Sherlock said. "And don't try to pretend you don't."

"I-" Moriarty hesitated. "Psycho. It was psycho."

He spat the word with all the hate that could possibly be stuffed into it.

"When did it start?" Sherlock asked.

"Why do you care?!" Moriarty said.

"Because... you were right." Sherlock said. "We are the same. As much as I didn't want to believe it, I am you."

"Of course you are, I could have told you that a long time ago." Moriarty said.

"That's not a bad thing though."

"Ah yes... I knew you'd come around. Join me."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I'm not here to switch sides."

"Then what are you **here** for!?" Moriarty yelled.

"I'm here to see if you'll come back with me."

"Me? An angel?" Moriarty laughed bitterly. "Ha! Like they'd take me after all I've done? And why would I even want to?"

It was silent for a moment.

"Others may not understand why you do what you do, and I didn't before,"

"But you think you do now," Moriarty cackled, "And I'm supposed to believe you?!"

"You know there's no good way to prove it. You'll just have to take my word, and I'm telling you again." Sherlock said. "I understand your mind, and I want to help you."

" **No!** You don't!" Moriarty said. "You'll never understand! No one will! Not until I show them!"

"I'm you Moriarty! Remember!? I. Am. You." Sherlock said, his voice raising for the first time.

 _I'm just trying to help! Just trying to help..._ Sherlock said, beginning to feel frustrated and to his surprise, quite upset, as well as helpless.

"If John knew how many times I've wanted to blow up the world myself, he wouldn't be up in that building watching me! If he knew the things I had done..."

Sherlock paused, realizing he had revealed some information he hadn't intended to.

"That was you?" Moriarty said. "That intruder, the one who took down my web one piece at a time, that one who survived torture, then tortured others in the same way. That was you?"

Sherlock stared at the ground.

"Yes." Sherlock said. "Guilt, and shame eats of me now, same as it does you. I'm just as flawed, damaged, and dirty as you are."

"Damaged?" Moriarty said. "I'm not damaged! _**We're**_ not damaged! We are _exactly_ how we're supposed to be!"

"I agree, very much agree to a certain extent. Your mind is amazing the way it is, but just like a technology it needs to be updated sometimes, and if you miss even one, some things start to not work right." Sherlock said. "We've both missed some. We've missed the **most** important ones! If your childhood, if your family was anything like mine, and I'm confident it was, then you don't know what it's like for touch to not hurt. You don't know what it's like for voices not to be accusing, not to be condescending, not to yell. You don't know what it's like to be sitting next to someone and be simply happy that they exist. You don't know what it's like to be called by your own name, instead of the one that the world gave you. You don't know what it's like to be able to express yourself without feeling vulnerable. Without being afraid that what comes out might make you even more alienated than you already were. You don't know what it's like to be loved, and cared about. And neither did I until... Until I met John. I pushed him away at first, even more lately because of my realizing this. But we shouldn't push people like John away."

A silent tear glistened in Moriarty's eye, and Sherlock could tell he was working hard to keep his voice from cracking.

"But he called you Freak." Moriarty said.

Sherlock flinched at the mention of the word.

"He didn't mean it. Not like others do." Sherlock said. "He was angry, and sometimes people say things they don't mean when their angry."

"Did he tell you that?" Moriarty asked. "I've always found people to be more truthful when they're angry."

"I-" Sherlock hesitated, doubting himself for once.

 _What am I thinking! John was **not** lying to me. He would never lie to me. Ever._

"Normal people are strange that way, when they're angry, they say what they think. And what they're thinking at that time isn't always the same thing as they mean, because they combine their thoughts together and it's not always easy for them to see through them. You know what I'm talking about, now just make it smaller. Divide it by... oh... about 10.59 or so. When their angry, their anger taints all their thoughts as well as contaminates their words. I've studied it before. It's actually quite interesting how it all fits together, and I haven't explained it well I don't think, but you get the basic idea."

Moriarty just watched him.

"What-" Sherlock took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that there is more to life than we can see. For all our brilliance in some areas, we completely forget that others exist. We're no better than normal people. What comes naturally for them takes practice for us, likewise, what is natural to us takes years for them, and vice versa. Normal people need us. If normal people are left to their own they'll never get anything done, but if we're left to our own we'll get too much done. In much the same way, we need normal people. If we don't have them, than our minds will tear themselves apart."

Moriarty moved his head, to stare at the ground.

"There is a way out of all this! Don't you get it?!" Sherlock said desperately. "I'm trying to save you!"

Moriarty walked closer to Sherlock, and looked up to meet his eyes.

"Maybe you're right." Moriarty said, a tear sparkling in the corner of his eye. His somber look changed to a maniacal grin.

Sherlock saw the dull gleam of metal too late, and a sharp pain shot throughout his body.

He looked down to see dark red blood spreading across his crisp purple shirt, making it appear almost black. He could see the metal handle of the knife sticking out of him.

Moriarty grinned at him, and twisted the knife as he pulled it out.

 _ **"But I'm too far gone to save."**_

* * *

A/N: Yikes! I wrote that chapter and it still sends creepy shivers down my spine. I have to get the next chapter up soon so _**I**_ can see what will happen! Gosh, I can't even put what I'm feeling into words... Reviews please..."


	18. Too Far Gone to Save

Sherlock walked across the roof top, to the place in which Moriarty was waiting. The same place he had been right before the fall. Sitting there, playing a different song this time.

 _Counting Stars, by OneRepublic._ Sherlock thought. _John made me listen to it awhile back... Don't remember why..._

"Familiar, isn't it?" Moriarty said. "This? Just you and me, together, on top this very same roof. Didn't turn out too well, did it?"

"I'm not here for a fight." Sherlock said. "I... I wanted to ask you something."

Moriarty's face twisted in confusion.

"Yes?"

"What was your word?" Sherlock said.

Moriarty paused, and was about to speak when Sherlock prevented him.

"You do know, exactly what I'm talking about." Sherlock said. "And don't try to pretend you don't."

"I-" Moriarty hesitated. "Psycho. It was psycho."

He spat the word with all the hate that could possibly be stuffed into it.

"When did it start?" Sherlock asked.

"Why do you care?!" Moriarty said.

"Because... you were right." Sherlock said. "We are the same. As much as I didn't want to believe it, I am you."

"Of course you are, I could have told you that a long time ago." Moriarty said.

"That's not a bad thing though."

"Ah yes... I knew you'd come around. Join me."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I'm not here to switch sides."

"Then what are you here for!?" Moriarty yelled.

"I'm here to see if you'll come back with me."

"Me? An angle?" Moriarty laughed bitterly. "Like they'd take me after all I've done?"

It was silent for a moment.

"Others may not understand why you do what you do, and I didn't before,"

"But you think you do now," Moriarty cackled, "Ha! Why should I believe you?!"

"You know there's no good way to prove it. You'll just have to take my word." Sherlock said. "I understand, and I want to help you."

"No! You don't!" Moriarty said. "You'll never understand! No one will! Not until I show them!"

"I'm you Moriarty! Remember!? I. Am. You." Sherlock said, his voice raising for the first time.

 _I'm just trying to help! Just trying to help..._ Sherlock said, beginning to feel frustrated and to his surprise, quite upset, as well as helpless.

"If John knew how many times I've wanted to blow up the world myself, he wouldn't be up in that building watching me! If he knew the things I had done..."

Sherlock paused, realizing he had revealed some information he hadn't intended to.

"That was you?" Moriarty said. "That intruder, the one who took down my web one piece at a time, that one who survived torture, then tortured others in the same way. That was you?"

Sherlock stared at the ground.

"Yes." Sherlock said. "Guilt, and shame eats of me now, same as it does you. I'm just as flawed, damaged, and dirty as you are."

"Damaged?" Moriarty said. "I'm not damaged! _**We're**_ not damaged! We are _exactly_ how we're supposed to be!"

"I agree, very much agree to a certain extent. Your mind is amazing the way it is, but just like a technology it needs to be updated sometimes, and if you miss even one, some things start to not work right." Sherlock said. "We've both missed some. We've missed the **most** important ones! If your childhood, if your family was anything like mine, and I'm confident it was, then you don't know what it's like for touch to not hurt. You don't know what it's like for voices not to be accusing, not to be condescending, not to yell. You don't know what it's like to be sitting next to someone and be simply happy that they exist. You don't know what it's like to be called by your own name, instead of the one that the world gave you. You don't know what it's like to be able to express yourself without feeling vulnerable. Without being afraid that what comes out might make you even more alienated than you already were. You don't know what it's like to be loved, and cared about. And neither did I until... Until I met John. I pushed him away at first, even more lately because of my realizing this. But we shouldn't push people like John away."

A silent tear glistened in Moriarty's eye, and Sherlock could tell he was working hard to keep his voice from cracking.

"But he called you Freak." Moriarty said.

Sherlock flinched at the mention of the word.

"He didn't mean it. Not like others do." Sherlock said. "He was angry, and sometimes people say things they don't mean when their angry."

"Did he tell you that?" Moriarty asked. "I've always found people to be more truthful when they're angry."

"I-" Sherlock hesitated, doubting himself for once.

 _What am I thinking! John was **not** lying to me. He would never lie to me. Ever._

"Normal people are strange that way, when they're angry, they say what they think. And what they're thinking at that time isn't always the same thing as they mean, because they combine their thoughts together and it's not always easy for them to see through them. You know what I'm talking about, now just make it smaller. Divide it by... oh... about 10.59 or so. When their angry, their anger taints all their thoughts as well as contaminates their words. I've studied it before. It's actually quite interesting how it all fits together, and I haven't explained it well I don't think, but you get the basic idea."

Moriarty just watched him.

"What-" Sherlock took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that there is more to life than we can see. For all our brilliance in some areas, we completely forget that others exist. We're no better than normal people. What comes naturally for them takes practice for us, likewise, what is natural to us takes years for them, and vice versa. Normal people need us. If normal people are left to their own they'll never get anything done, but if we're left to our own we'll get too much done. In much the same way, we need normal people. If we don't have them, than our minds will tear themselves apart."

Moriarty moved his head, to stare at the ground.

"There is a way out of all this! Don't you get it?!" Sherlock said desperately. "I'm trying to save you!"

Moriarty walked closer to Sherlock, and looked up to meet his eyes.

"Maybe you're right." Moriarty said, a tear sparkling in the corner of his eye. His somber look changed to a maniacal grin.

Sherlock saw the dull gleam of metal too late, and a sharp pain shot throughout his body.

He looked down to see dark red blood spreading across his crisp purple shirt, making it appear almost black. He could see the metal handle of the knife sticking out of him.

Moriarty grinned at him, and twisted the knife as he pulled it out.

 _ **"But I'm too far gone to save."**_

* * *

A/N: Yikes! I wrote that chapter and it still sends creepy shivers down my spine. I have to get the next chapter up soon so _**I**_ can see what will happen! Gosh, I can't even put what I'm feeling into words... Reviews please..."


	19. Hospital, and Too Normal

Sherlock collapsed before John could work out what had happened.

After a moment of shock, John quickly took aim at Moriarty and pulled the trigger, only to be knocked down and miss entirely. The bullet shattered a window of the building instead. John looked behind him to find his attacker. It was a tall, well built man wearing a black face mask.

"You must be Moriarty's backup, then." John mumbled. "Of course."

John had him groaning on the ground with a broken wrist, leg, and multiple ribs in less than a minute.

"He doesn't train you guys well, does he?" John said.

John took off running down the stairs of the building.

 _Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock._

These words repeated in his mind over and over as he ran to St. Bart's and climbed the stairs to the roof faster than most would think was possible.

He looked around for a moment before hearing a groan of pain and saw that Sherlock had managed to pull himself against the side of the small house looking thing that contained some electrical equipment for the hospital. John didn't know the name of it, so he proceeded to call it "house thing" in his mind.

John quickly knelt by Sherlock's side and took his pulse.

"I don't think-" John heard, but it was cut off momentarily with a wince. "I don't think it's that bad..."

"Don't talk, Sherlock." John said. "Just stay awake."

John pulled the scarf from Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock hissed as he began to put pressure on the wound with it.

John pulled out his mobile with his free hand and dialed Lestrade.

 _"Hello?"_ Lestrade answered.

"It's me, John." John said hurriedly. "We need an ambulance. We're on the roof top at St. Bart's. Sherlock's been stabbed."

 _"I've got one on the way."_ Lestrade said. " _Life threatening?"_

"Depends on how long you take." John said. John lifted up his hand from Sherlock's wound for a moment.

"I don't think it hit anything major, but it's deep and he's bleeding out fast." John said.

 _"ETA of 3 minutes."_ Lestrade said.

John hung up and put pressure on Sherlock's wound with both hands.

Sherlock gasped at the sudden increase. His face lost color quickly with the burst of pain.

"I know it hurts." John said. "Just stay awake."

"I'm fine, John." Sherlock mumbled. "It's not as bad as you- as you say...

"Sorry if I don't the person who is currently in the process of losing consciousness." John said.

John slapped Sherlock's cheek lightly.

"Stay awake." John said.

"Dizzy..." Sherlock said, as if he was making a note to himself.

He looked down at the now soaked scarf.

 _He's losing too much blood._ John thought. _And I can't do a thing about it._

John heard a sirens in the distance.

"Just a little longer." John said.

It was a tense silence during the wait.

"Keep your eyes open, Sherlock." John said.

"I am." Sherlock said.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not Sherlock! Don't fight with me on this!"

"Sorry." Sherlock mumbled.

"Good. You should be." John said.

Medics burst out onto the roof and came wheeling up a stretcher.

John saw Sherlock wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"You are going to a hospital, Sherlock." John said. "I don't care how much you hate them."

"I know..." Sherlock said.

He was surprisingly strong considering how much blood he had lost, and it wasn't much of a struggle to get him on the stretcher.

"Let me ride with him." John said to the medic.

"Are you family?" The EMT asked.

"The closest thing he's got." John said.

The EMT nodded and allowed John to ride.

John watched the medics like a hawk as they treated Sherlock.

An air mask was promptly put on Sherlock's face, and Sherlock raised a hand up weakly to adjust it.

John swatted his hand away.

"Let them treat you, Sherlock." John said. "Don't be an idiot."

* * *

Sherlock woke up to the antiseptic smell of a hospital.

Even before he opened his eyes he could feel the bright fluorescent light shining down on him.

He ran a basic diagnostics test to locate his injuries and get an idea of the extent of them.

 _Stab wound, missed any vital organs..._

Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his head to see John sleeping in the chair beside his hospital bed.

As his mind cleared of any fog left over from the period of unconsciousness, he became more aware of the pain.

It wasn't nearly as bad as he had been expecting, and he wondered what he had been given to dull it.

He turned his head slightly to the right and looked up at the iv attached to his arm.

 _Morphine... No!_

No. He didn't want to get mixed up in that again.

He tried to sit up but was stopped by a sharp pain that caused him to release a breath of air.

He grabbed for the iv and tried to pull it out of his arm, but a hand caught his before he could.

John had apparently woken up in Sherlock's panic.

* * *

"Sherlock, calm down!" John said. "It's alright! You're safe."

"Turn that off-" Sherlock said, still breathing hard with his heart rate up from his moment of panic.

"What?" John asked confused.

Sherlock pointed up at the iv.

It took John a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

"That's the pain killer, Sherlock, you don't want me to get rid of that." John said.

"Morphine-" Sherlock said.

"Yes, so? Wait- Oh..." John quickly removed the iv, then pressed the call button.

A nurse promptly came in.

"Yes?" She asked.

"There's been a mistake, do to a history with the drug, this patient should not have use of the pain killer Morphine." John said. "Please ask the doctor to select something else."

"Yes, right away." The nurse smiled and walked out of the room.

John looked at Sherlock.

"When you saw that, you panicked." John commented. "You're clean then?"

Sherlock turned sharply to John.

"You think I would lie to you over something as big as that?" Sherlock asked.

"Well..." John hesitated. "No, but Mycroft-"

"Mycroft is an idiot. I've been mostly clean for over 7 years, and I haven't even thought about touching the stuff since I met you." Sherlock said. "He just pulls out that excuse for being over protective whenever he's feeling particularly antagonistic."

Shortly after the conversation ended, Sherlock went into his mind palace, and John started reading a magazine that he had taken from the waiting room.

Then John broke the silence.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John said.

"For what?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"For letting me come with you." John said. "For not dying."

Sherlock was unsure as how to respond to that.

* * *

(Next Day)

* * *

John met Molly outside the hospital room. "I told Molly Sherlock was in the hospital. We tried to visit last night, but they were only letting family in." Lestrade said.

"We're here now though. How's he doing?" Molly asked.

"He's in a lot of pain, but he's surprisingly normal considering it all." John said. "Too normal..."

"You think he's hiding something?" Lestrade asked.

"Not medically, no, but uh- He still hasn't told me what they talked about on that roof, or where it went wrong. I get the itch that something about it's bothering him." John said. "Anyway, come on in."

John opened the door.

"Guests, Sherlock." John said.

Sherlock looked up from his copy of The Gloria Scott.

"Hi Sherlock." Molly said, quietly.

Sherlock sat up more.

"You don't have to whisper, Molly, I'm not dying." Sherlock said, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

John turned to Lestrade.

"They're releasing him this afternoon, so he's in a good mood." John said.

"I am fully capable of speaking for myself, John." Sherlock said. "Do shut up."

"Nice to see you've still got your spice." Lestrade said.

"Skip the small talk." Sherlock said. "Do you have any news?"

"News?" Lestrade asked. "News about what? The case?"

"No, about how they're demolishing the London Eye- Of course the case, you idiot!" Sherlock said exasperatedly.

"Well, no, actually, we're stumped." Lestrade admitted sheepishly. "I guess we'll just have to wait for you to be up and around."

"Knowing him, that'll be less than a week." John sighed.

* * *

A/N: So, a bit of a calmer chapter compared to the last few... Don't worry, things will get exciting again soon. ;) Reviews please!


	20. Finally

Sherlock soon left the hospital and was back where he belonged. 221b Baker Street.

He sat in his chair, just thinking, plucking the strings of his violin absentmindedly. John wouldn't allow him to work on the case, as to prevent him from injuring himself further.

* * *

John looked up from his paper over at Sherlock, squinting his eyes at him. Sherlock had been quite listless since he left the hospital a few days ago. He hadn't done much of anything, and it wasn't because he couldn't. John probably would have let him do some of the easier experiments, or something. The only thing John had said "No, absolutely not!" to was Sherlock working on the case.

"Something bothering you?" John asked, finally. Sherlock looked up at John, shaking his head with a quiet "hm."

"I've lived with you long enough, I can tell when you're lying." John said. "And you are. Right now."

"It's nothing, John." Sherlock sighed. Sherlock stood up and replaced the violin into its case. "Not important. You wouldn't understand."

"I'd like to try though." John said. "Remember what I said earlier?

"John... It's... I don't know how to explain it." Sherlock said.

"Just try then. I'm tired of being in the dark." John said.

"If it's light you want, then you should go find Molly." Sherlock said. "You won't find it in me."

"You know what I mean." John said, exasperatedly.

"I do." Sherlock confirmed.

"Then why won't you just tell me?"

"Because I honestly have no idea how to convey what it is that I am thinking." Sherlock said. "The only way for you to even try to understand is telepathy, which doesn't yet exist."

"How about this, I will prompt you with questions, and you will answer them." John said.

Sherlock sighed.

"There's no harm in trying, and if it doesn't work, we'll stop, and I won't bug you any longer." John said.

Sherlock sighed again, but nodded.

"First of all, I'm going to cover the basics, all of which you'll say no to, but I have to because I'm a doctor." John said. "Are you ill?"

"No."

"Are you cold?"

"No."

Are you hot?"

"No."

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Liar. How much? Scale 1-10. 10 being the worst."

"4 or 5."

"Okay, now we're done with that." John said. "Does it have to do with Moriarty?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but just stared at John.

"Don't seem so shocked. I'm stupid, but I'm not an idiot." John said.

Sherlock just nodded.

"Is it something he's going to do?" John asked.

"No."

"Is is something he said?"

"Not exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked.

"I don't know!" Sherlock said, raising his voice slightly, showing his frustration. He stood up suddenly and started pacing. "All I know is that I tried to save him, and he wouldn't let me!"

"What did you say?" John asked, wondering if he had misheard.

"I- I tried to save him." Sherlock said more quietly, but with the same depth and force of meaning behind it. "I tried to explain to him what all you've given me."

At the questioning look in John's eyes Sherlock continued.

"I tried to explain to him that there are still good people out there, though they are far and few between. I tried to show him how not every one-" Sherlock hesitated.

"Listen to me, Sherlock." John said. "If you ever want our friendship to be as strong as it can be, then you've got to let me through your walls."

John stood up and looked him in the eyes.

"I might not be able to understand all the thoughts going round in your mind, but I'd like at least to see what's there." John said.

Sherlock looked at John, trying to gauge his sincerity, only to find that he could find nothing indicating it wasn't. Then Sherlock nodded.

"I tried to explain to him that not every one thinks being different is a bad thing." Sherlock said. "And that people, like you, John, would accept us for the way we are, if only we were to seek out the opportunity. I told him I understood why he's doing what he is, I told him that while I thought it wrong, I still saw how it was also... justified."

"Justified?" John asked.

"He's- he's just-" Sherlock said, "He's trying to show the world what it's like to be him. Attacked at all times from all places. Even by himself. I tried to help him, but he won't let me..."

"Did you know, Sherlock," John said, as he walked over to the kettle and poured them both a cuppa. "That up until now, I've been trying to do the same thing with you that you're trying with Moriarty?"

"Yes." Sherlock said.

John was surprised, John didn't think Sherlock had recognized the fact.

"Really?" John asked.

"Not to begin with, but over time, yes." Sherlock said.

"So why did you decide to start cooperating now?" John handed one of the cups of tea to Sherlock, and kept the other for himself. They both sat down in their chairs.

"I realized I should take my own advice." Sherlock said, fiddling with the handle of his mug. "That I should stop fighting my battles alone, and let the people who care about me, and I, them, fight them with me. It took me a long time, much longer than it should have, to realize that we'll all be much stronger together than we ever were apart."

It was then that John saw a leap of emotional maturity in Sherlock, the like of which he had never seen before.

"And I'm glad you did."

* * *

The phone rang.

 _"Hello?"_

* * *

 **A/N: Ah yes... There we get some nice friendship fluff between the two of them. Sherlock has finally learned to accept what he is offered, and to trust John not to abuse the privilege Sherlock has given him. Keep reading to find out the significance of this phone call, and believe me, there will be. Thank you for all the awesome reviews, and keep reviewing! I seem to have found a direct correlation between the time between updates and the number of reviews I receive...**


	21. Not Break, Fix

"Hello?" Sherlock said. "Who is this?"

 _"Ah Sherlock, healing up well I hear."_

"Moriarty." Sherlock turned the phone on speaker. "What do you want?"

 _"Ah, nothing much, nothing we haven't done before."_ Moriarty said, in a sing song voice. _"I just wanted to invite you to a little game of mine."_

"And what exactly is that comprised of?" Sherlock asked.

 _"Oh, don't worry, it doesn't involve much physical activity. Oh, and John, he's not been taking his pain pills. They cloud his mind. He probably has said it's a 4-5, but it's much closer to 7."_ Moriarty said. _"Just thought you would want to know."_

John looked at Sherlock who had paused, with his mouth open as if he was going to speak. He wisely shut it.

"Sherlock, is this true?" John said.

Sherlock was about to answer but John interrupted.

"Ah, ah, ah, no lying. We are **not** back tracking on that conversation from earlier." John said, glaring at Sherlock.

"Yes, it's true, but that's not the point." Sherlock said. "We probably ought to get back to hearing from our friendly neighborhood murderer."

Sherlock turned back to the phone.

"He hung up." Sherlock said, staring at it.

"So... What's that supposed to mean?" John said. "Do you know what he's talking about? A game?"

"Probably something similar to what happened during 'The Great Game'." Sherlock said.

"You do read my blog then!" John said. "I knew it!"

"Of course, I always do." Sherlock scoffed, "Someone has to make sure you don't embarrass yourself with your pathetic grammar."

John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock felt the mobile vibrate in his hand.

"He's sent me a message." Sherlock said. He sat down in his chair. "A picture..."

John leaned over Sherlock's shoulder to have a look for himself.

"Just like last time." John said. "The living room of an old sort of place. Do you know where it is?"

Sherlock stared at the picture for a long moment. "Yes. It's the first flat I had after I moved out of Mum and Dad's. I lived there while I was going to University."

"You went to University?" John asked.

"Yes, of course. Mum and Dad forced me to. I hated every second of it." Sherlock said. "I got a Master's in Chemistry at Cambridge."

"You never told me that." John commented.

"Those... those were years I prefer not to think back on." Sherlock said. "I don't know why he sent me this, the first picture of 'The Great Game' was easy to figure out. This one is much harder, I still haven't a clue as to why he would send it."

"Maybe that's the point." John said. "You did well in the last game so he wants to keep pushing you harder to see how long before you break. Doesn't make much sense though."

"What doesn't?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, if you've made it this far already, you're obviously not going to break." John said.

"There's where you're wrong John." Sherlock said.

"Hm?"

"I've always been broken." Sherlock said. "He's not trying to break me. He's trying to draw me back together, align the pieces. Then he wants to melt me, _burn_ me back into one piece again. He wants to see who I was before the world took it's part. But he's made the very same mistake I did..."

"What?" John asked.

"He thinks that I used to be better than I am now. He thinks I was faster, smarter, more clever." Sherlock said. "What he doesn't understand is that while the time and experiences may have shaped me, torn away at my flesh, and made me into who I am; I'm still better now than I ever was before. He thinks that if he made me what I was before, I'd be stronger. But I wouldn't, because it takes time to learn. I'd never give up what I've done, what I've gone through, or even the choices I've made for anything in the world. Because if I did, things wouldn't be like they are now. I would never have met, you, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, or probably even Lestrade. Who know's, I might not even be a consulting detective. I might have followed in Mycroft's foot steps and work for the government... No, still wouldn't have done that."

Sherlock crinkled his nose in disgust at the idea.

John wasn't sure whether to laugh or be touched. He seemed to settle for something in between. He grinned and laughed while a few tears ran down his cheek.

Sherlock looked at John after hearing his laughter, but a frown appeared on his face.

"You are sa- you are happ-" He looked at John for a long moment, then alarm and frustrated confusion crossed his face. "I'm getting quite mixed messages, care to explain?" Sherlock said.

"I'm happy, Sherlock, don't worry." John said.

"Then why are you..." Sherlock reached up hesitantly and collected one tear on his finger. He held it out to John, as if he were showing him proof. "Why are you crying?"

"They're happy tears, Sherlock."

"...Why?"

"Because you really are learning." John said. "You are understanding this, you are applying this, and- I- my efforts weren't wasted."

"Of course not, John." Sherlock said. "None of your efforts are wasted. This one just took awhile longer. Now, back to Moriarty."

John looked at Sherlock.

"You may have learned this lesson, but you've still got a lot more to go, idiot." John said. Sherlock tensed and straightened as John wrapped him in a hug.

"Wha- what are you doing?" Sherlock said, looking down at John.

"You said something sweet, so I'm hugging you. Deal with it."

"Which thing?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not telling you until you figure it out, idiot." John said.

Sherlock looked down at John.

"How is it," Sherlock asked, "That you're the only one who can make 'idiot' sound like a compliment instead of an insult? I still haven't put together how that works."

"Because that's what friends do." John said.

"All friends do?" Sherlock asked, confused. "They all call each other 'idiot' or 'stupid'? They do that?"

"Well, most friends do, especially best friends. They pick on each other."

"I must have had a lot of friends I didn't know about then..." Sherlock said.

It took John a second, but he picked up on Sherlock's train of thought.

"Oh Sherlock..."

* * *

A/N: So there you go, a little more fluff as well as an introduction to the next serious part! Hmm... I wonder why Moriarty sent Sherlock a picture of his old flat? I guess you'll just have to wait and see! Reviews please!


	22. Neck Pain and Annoying Printers

Sherlock stared at the picture on his mobile, just as he had for over an hour now.

"That's not good on your eyes." John commented.

"You can't say much," Sherlock scoffed, "You've been doing it too."

John considered this.

"True."

They both continued to stare at it.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, and John was standing behind it, craning his head over Sherlock's and looking down so he could see the picture.

"We could just go sit on the couch you know, have the phone between us so we could both see." Sherlock said, tilted his head up to look at John who was hovering directly above him. "I would say that it would prevent any neck pain for you tomorrow, but I think it's a little too late for that, so I'll say it will make for _less_ pain."

John looked down at him.

"We could probably print out the picture on paper too." John said. "Then it wouldn't strain our eyes so much..." They both glanced towards the printer.

"Why are we just thinking of this now?" John asked as the both stared at the printer.

"I don't know." Sherlock answered.

Then, in a second, both of them were up and pouncing on the printer.

Sherlock worked on connecting the mobile to the printer, while John turned it on.

"It's not working, Sherlock." John said.

Sherlock looked up.

"Hmm..." Sherlock pressed a few buttons himself, including the 'on' button.

After not figuring it out himself they both just looked at the machine as if they expected it to magically fix itself.

John and Sherlock turned to each other at the same time.

 _"Mrs. Hudson."_ They both said this, getting the idea at the same time.

Mrs. Hudson often got things working when they couldn't as she was more adapt at 'normal people things' as Sherlock called them.

She had been a Secretary for a drug cartel after all. She would have had to be quick with a printer.

Sherlock and John took off downstairs towards Mrs. Hudson's flat and knocked on the door.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John said.

"The printer's not working." Sherlock said. "Will you do your magic?"

"Just be glad I hadn't gone to sleep yet... I was watching a movie." Mrs. Hudson yawned, as she slipped on her house shoes.

John's face twisted in confusion.

"What time is it?" He asked.

"After 10:30 at night, dear." She said.

"Really?" John said.

They walked on up to their flat and Mrs. Hudson walked up to the printer.

She pressed the button, then watched it for a moment.

"Well, did you remember to plug it in?" Mrs. Hudson said, going around to the back of the machine.

John and Sherlock looked at each other.

John rubbed his face, realizing just how stupid the both of them had been.

Mrs. Hudson plugged it in then pressed the 'on' button.

The printer hummed.

"Sorry Mrs. Hudson." John said. "I don't know why-"

"How long has it been since you two boys have slept?" Mrs. Hudson said, turning to them.

John thought a moment, then looked at Sherlock, who shrugged slightly.

Mrs. Hudson saw the interaction and some how heard the telepathic communication.

"That's it, you two are going to bed." She determined. "A nice night's sleep will do you both a world of good."

"But the case-" Sherlock protested, but Mrs. Hudson cut him off.

"Can wait until tomorrow unless someone is in danger of being killed." Mrs. Hudson said. "In which case you would both be quite a lot more anxious and frantic, so don't even try to lie to me." Mrs. Hudson pointed down the hallway. "Now, to bed." she ordered. "There'll be a nice hot breakfast waiting for you in the morning, but don't expect this to happen again, because I am _not_ your house keeper."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson." John and Sherlock murmured together.

They both retired to their rooms.

"Goodnight Sherlock." John called out, loud enough that it could be heard by Sherlock in his bedroom. John rolled over and turned the light out, not expecting an answer, as Sherlock never gave one. Apparently tonight was different though.

"Goodnight, John."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she heard the two exchange good nights, and walked back up to her own flat. She turned off the telly, deciding to call it a night herself.

* * *

 **A/N:** **And there we get a bit more fluff, but don't worry, John and Sherlock will be thinking quite a lot clearer after a night's rest. Things will happen.**

 **I've got the rest plotted, but if there's a scene you'd really like to see in this story, PM me and I'll try to squeeze it in. ;)**

 **Reviews Please!**


	23. The Strange Mood

Sherlock didn't realize how tired he actually was until he woke up.

He felt as though a significant amount of weight had been lifted off of him.

 _Hmm... Maybe I actually do need to sleep._ He wondered briefly.

He cleared the matter from his mind, content to be calm and relaxed, not thinking on any particular matter.

That fact surprised him slightly, but he didn't dwell on it long for fear of ruining it.

 _Do normal people feel like this always?_ Sherlock wondered. _It's actually quite... nice. Maybe- maybe I should sleep more often._

Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen, following his nose.

Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Sherlock," John greeted him, looking up momentarily from his news paper and food.

Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock a plate with 3 fairly sizable pancakes.

"Now, listen here Sherlock, you will not leave this room until you eat every bite on that plate." Mrs. Hudson said.

Sherlock looked at the pancakes on the plate. He aroma filled the air, and Sherlock was surprised to find he was actually a little hungry.

The pancakes looked good, with a slice of butter on top that was melting into the warm syrup.

 _Home-made pancakes, syrup log cabin brand, it's the nice butter that doesn't come in boxes or tubs, but the stuff that Mrs. Hudson puts in her butter_ _keeper._

That was as far as his deductions went. Nothing more mattered. He didn't have any more to analyze.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson." he said.

Mrs. Hudson pressed a large glass of milk into his hand.

"Drink that too." she ordered. "I don't want to see a drop left."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sherlock got the urge to smile.

And he did.

It wasn't a big smile, but it was real.

Sherlock plopped himself down opposite from John at the table.

Mrs. Hudson had cleared away some of his experiments to make room. Usually, he would have been irritated, but today, he was just glad. He could see John better this way.

Sherlock proceeded to attack his pancakes, stabbing them with his fork, testing to see the pancakes different reactions to the stab based on the different angles he inserted the fork. But he didn't just play with his food, he ate it. Ate one bite right after another.

John looked up from his paper and coffee when he heard what sounded like Sherlock eating.

Both he and Mrs. Hudson stared in disbelief.

Sherlock poked his fork into the last bite of pancake, then drained his milk, holding the cup up to get the last few drops out.

"You finished your plate." John said.

"Yes?"

"You never finish your plate." John said.

"I was hungry."

"You, Sherlock Holmes, were hungry."

Sherlock could have taken this as an insult, but he didn't.

"Yes, John, I am human, you know."

"Well, y-yes-" John stuttered, "But I wasn't aware that you knew."

John watched as Sherlock got up and put another pancake on his plate and filled his glass again half way with milk.

Mrs. Hudson stared at John. **Seconds.** Sherlock Holmes, had gotten seconds.

"Very good pancakes, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock complimented, smiling as he sat back down.

John stared at the pancake for a moment before looking back up at Sherlock.

"Are you alright?" John asked.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock answered. "Why would you think I wasn't?"

"Well," John said. "You're eating."

"Yes, people do that." Sherlock said. "Would you prefer I stopped?"

"No! I mean, no." John said. "It's just... you're acting sort of odd."

"I know." Sherlock said.

"Why then?" John asked, "Because it's actually starting to scare me a little."

"I don't know, John. I just feel... good. Better than I have in a long time, but I can't think of any rhyme or reason, and I'm not going to try to too much, because I don't want it to go away." Sherlock said. "Don't you see? I don't want to think right now! I just- I'm not bored, but I'm not working on some sort of puzzle, or idea, or anything! I have plenty of energy, but I don't feel the need to use it. I'm just... happy."

John wasn't sure how to respond.

"That's... good, I guess." He said.

John watched Sherlock finish his remaining pancake.

Sherlock seemed more relaxed than John had ever seen him.

It was weird, but nice to see Sherlock so happy.

Suddenly an idea made its way into John's mind.

John pulled out his mobile and found the camera.

"Hey Sherlock, look up this way." John said.

"Hm?" Sherlock said.

John snapped a picture of the smiling Sherlock.

"Good trick, John."

Sherlock was in a really good mood then. John's trick hadn't annoyed him.

Sherlock put his plate and glass in the sink.

Many surprising things were happening today.

"Come on, John." Sherlock said, walking into the living room. "We need to get to work. We need to figure out what the significance of that picture is."

John downed what was left of his coffee and folded his newspaper.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." He said, then kissed her on the cheek before chasing after Sherlock into the next room.

* * *

 **The phone rang.** Again. They both knew who it was."

They both looked at the phone in Sherlock's hand.

"One of us probably ought to answer it." John said.

"Yes."

"I don't want to."

"Me neither." Sherlock said.

 _Riiiiing!_

Sherlock took a deep breath then held the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

 _"You haven't made any progress with the clue I gave you."_ Moriarty said.

"No, there were other, more pressing matters." Sherlock said.

 _"Believe me, there aren't."_ Moriarty said. _"I'm planning something big. Something that you'll want as much time as possible to figure out. I suggest you get on with your deducing, Sherlock. You never know what could happen if you wait... Lives could be lost, children abandoned, and well, who knows what else?"_

"You."

 _"My, you always are a clever one aren't you? Well, that won't last much longer when people die because you weren't fast enough."_ Moriarty said. The last for words were said in a sing-song voice.

"All these puzzles and riddles with you," Sherlock said, "Why don't you just get to the point?"

 _"Complexity is what makes revenge sweet."_ Moriarty said. _"You know that, I know that, and soon the world will too. I don't owe you a fall anymore Sherlock, you survived, and afterwards thrived. But I do still owe you something Sherlock. I owe you a **rise**."_

"What do you mean?"Sherlock asked.

 _"You'll find out soon enough,"_ Moriarty said, _"And when you do, it will **blow** you away. I will **burn** you in the place you least expect, and you will **never** see me coming."_

 _Click._

Moriarty hung up.

Sherlock held the phone in his hand for a moment before pressing the end call button.

He looked at John.

"The mood's gone?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded.

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow. What started out looking like another fluff chapter turned serious in mere seconds. Wow. I wonder what Moriarty is planning... I guess you'll just have to wait for the next chapter. Just to clarify, John did not hear the conversation between Sherlock and Moriarty. Reviews please!


	24. Unknowingly Deleted

"What did he say?" John asked.

"I- Nothi-" How could Sherlock explain?

"Nope, you're not hiding this from me, no matter how worried or naggy I might be." John said. "You've been honest with me Sherlock, and frankly I find that absolutely astonishing. I'm not going to let you break that streak."

"John I-" Sherlock hesitated. He took a deep breath. "He's planning something big. I don't know what, but something, and I fear it might have something to do with an explosion and my old uni. I have no idea what though."

"Maybe exploding your uni?" John said, unable to believe Sherlock had not conceived the idea on his own.

"Of course, John, but he's not going to explode the _whole_ uni, now is he? Don't be an idiot." Sherlock said. "No, he's trying to get his message across."

"What message?" John asked.

Sherlock looked at John.

"I don't know- I don't know where- I don't know how- I don't know when- I don't know what-" Sherlock said. "I don't know any of it, and I don't know how to figure out-"

* * *

Sherlock felt the familiar feeling of panic coming back upon him. And to think, the day had started so well.

 _Good things never last._

Again, the feeling that something was going on behind the scenes, something he knew was there, but had no way of picking up on, was there and stronger than ever.

Sherlock had looked, and looked at that picture of his old flat, but could find nothing out of place. No extra scratch on the wall, no extra anything. Nothing was missing either.

The safe feeling that had manifested itself in him this morning had disappeared at the sound of Moriarty's voice.

Sherlock fought to control the panic.

He had done what he was supposed to, didn't he?

He opened up a little more to John, put himself in Moriarty's shoes and actually found some empathy for him, then tried to display it.

So why didn't it work?! He had taken all the right steps! Why were things still crumbling down in front of him?! Nothing he did seemed to have any effect. So why was he even bothering to try?!

Sherlock knew how ridiculous his thoughts were becoming. He also knew that it was just due to his body malfunctioning. But he couldn't stop it, now could he?"

Sherlock felt a hand on his wrist.

* * *

"Sherlock?"

John had noticed a frantic look in Sherlock's eyes, and he had begun pacing. Sherlock had his hands up in his usual thinking position, but he was pressing them together so hard his finger tips were turning white.

John noted that Sherlock's respiratory rate had increased significantly, while though they were more, they were shallower.

John reached to take Sherlock's pulse, and Sherlock froze as soon as his fingers touched Sherlock's wrist.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment.

"Not really. I would say it's not important, but you would accuse me of lying, which I am. I figure it's best to skip that bit all together." Sherlock's short clipped tone told John that he was in fact, not alright.

It wasn't his usual 'I'm telling you my deductions' fast talking. It was a 'My brain is moving fast enough that I can't think' kind of fast talking.

John was surprised that he recognized it, as he'd never known it to happen before.

"What's going on Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head, closing his eyes, and just shook out the tenseness of his body.

"Just a- a- thing?" Sherlock said. "Can't think of the name right now."

Sherlock started pacing again.

"A thing? What do you mean?" John asked.

"I don't know exactly, because what ever it is, makes it very hard to think!" Sherlock snapped. "Now shut up!"

John was somewhat taken aback with Sherlock's tone, and did as he said.

After a few moments Sherlock resumed pacing.

"You know what, keep talking, just stop talking about what I'm doing and talk about the case." Sherlock said. "You can make your own deductions about me _inside_ your head, and very quietly please."

Sherlock suddenly sat down on the floor and scooted back against the wall, then pulled his legs up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on top of it all.

Suddenly it clicked in John's mind.

 _Panic attack._

John sat beside Sherlock.

"Deep breaths."

"Don't you think I've already tried that?" Sherlock asked bitterly.

"It's called a panic attack, by the way." John said.

"Right, right, I knew that." Sherlock muttered.

"Has it happened before?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded slightly.

"What helped it then?"

"Molly." Sherlock answered.

"Molly." John repeated, somewhat surprised at the revelation.

"She didn't know she did, but she did." Sherlock said.

"What did she do?" John asked.

"She just..." Sherlock peeked up at John. "I don't know. Molly was Molly."

"Well, Molly is likely busy, so let's try this." John said. "What triggered this?"

"How am I supposed to know!?" Sherlock asked.

"Deduce yourself." John said. "Treat it like a case. Pretend you're not you. Pretend your body is the victim, and your mind is the detective."

Sherlock thought a moment before perking a little at the idea.

"What were you thinking when it started?" John prompted.

"I couldn't figure out why the flat was important. Nothing was missing, and nothing was added. I saw everything, remembered..." Sherlock paused.

He had remembered.

But how?

He had deleted most of Uni.

But some how it had come back. In a flash, Sherlock could now recall every single thing that happened while he was in Uni. He hadn't even known exactly what was going on when it happened, because the pictures had been flashing before his eyes too quickly for him to make sense of what it was.

He had even forgotten that he deleted most of Uni.

Sherlock Holmes had been missing a enormous chunk of information. No wonder he couldn't figure out what was important about that picture.

Moriarty had every way of finding about Sherlock's past, but he had no way of finding out what he had deleted.

"I remembered." Sherlock said. "All of it. All at once. It must have over loaded my brain."

"Remembered what?" John asked.

"I deleted most of Uni, John, because I didn't want to remember it. Now I do." Sherlock said. "I could solve the case now, but... I don't want to go into that room."

"In your mind palace?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded.

"That's one of my least favorite. That, the high school room, and... while I was gone." Sherlock shivered in disgust.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. "Why what?"

"Why are they your least favorite?"

"Because..." Sherlock tilted his head. He hadn't thought about it in a long time. He hadn't visited the rooms in years. The Serbia room was more recent, but it wasn't what the problem was right now, though it would likely be a problem again later.

After a moment's thought Sherlock sheepishly realized the reason. He didn't know how to put it into words though.

"It's not that I don't want to explain, John, I want to tell you, but I can't figure out how to- I mean, I don't know how to-"

"Explain it?" John filled in.

Sherlock nodded.

"I didn't figure you would." John answered. "But the answer is still up in your mind though, right? You can wrap your brain around it?"

"Of course." Sherlock said.

"Good, now, are the all symptoms gone?" John asked.

Sherlock turned his mind back to his body, and was astonished to see that they were.

"How-?" He asked, looking up at John in amazement.

"I'm an army doctor, Sherlock." John said. "We dealt with a lot more than bullet wounds. How long have you been having these?"

"Since high school." Sherlock answered, "But they're far and few between."

"During times of stress?" John said.

Sherlock nodded.

John thought for a moment.

"Makes sense." He said. "Highly intelligent people are more prone to these types of things. Now that we know the reason, you should be able to avoid more of them. But you're going to have to go through those rooms, Sherlock."

"John-"

"I know you don't want to, but it's necessary." John said. "You're the only one who can figure this out. This puzzle was built for you, Sherlock. You're the one he wants to solve it. Maybe if you do, we can end all this."

Sherlock nodded.

"Thanks for the pep talk."

John smirked, chuckling a bit, "Any time."

"No, I mean it." Sherlock his face serious. "I'd still be a shaking mess if you hadn't helped."

John just nodded. "I know."

"No need to get cocky about it..." Sherlock said.

He smiled then took off into his bedroom, returning a moment later with his scarf and wallet.

"Guess where we're going." Sherlock said. Sherlock threw on his own coat, and tossed John his.

John caught it without even looking.

"Where?" John asked.

 _ **"Cambridge University."**_

* * *

 **A/N:** Well there's a bit of fun, even I didn't know it would take that turn until it happened... Well, I hope you keep reading, and please review! Did you like how John was able to guide Sherlock through the panic attack, instead of Sherlock wondering through it aimlessly, waiting for it to stop as he had before? I think Sherlock has decided that there are benefits to having friends, and if he hasn't, he's an idiot. Anyway, tell me what you think!


	25. Fade to Black

Sherlock walked down the pavement towards the main building. He could hear John's footsteps behind him. The air was still cold, and snow still laced the ground, though it was no longer any deeper than an inch or two.

He gazed around his old University. My, how long it had been since he had stepped foot there. He had left as soon as he possibly could after he graduated, and hadn't come back since.

Old memories threatened their way into his conscious thought, pushing and shoving until they finally made it there. Sherlock had forgotten just how lost he had felt, how alone... Freak. As he looked around, he could remember every single time that dreaded word had been spoken in relation to himself. He could hardly spot a place in which he hadn't been called the name.

It seemed to him that Uni had been filled to the brim with Donovans and Andersons. The name 'Freak' was used to refer to him more often than his actual name, even by the teachers. Admittedly, Sherlock was a strange name, but still, it wouldn't be that difficult to remember. Even so, they still called him that repulsive word.

Sherlock was frankly amazed that he had managed to avoid getting himself killed considering the number of times he had been beaten up, threatened, and stolen from.

* * *

 _*flash back*_

* * *

 _Sherlock pulled his long coat in closer to him as he walked towards his Chemistry building. It was late Winter, and the winds were still biting through his clothing despite the extra effort to keep himself warm. Then it started raining. There was really not much way to avoid that. He still had to get to his class quickly, or else be late, so he started to walk a little faster. Because of the rain beating on the ground, he failed to notice the faint noise of some one coming closer. Sherlock heard a crash of lightening and subsequently found himself pinned against the wall of a building he had been walking near._

 _"I told you when to stop..." Devin Hollows said._

 _"Deducing." Sherlock prompted the bully._

 _"Whatever. I told you when to stop, and you didn't. Do you know what that means?"_

 _Hollows was on the football team, and larger than Sherlock. Sherlock was tall, but he was slim, and though surprisingly strong, not overly so. Hollows was built like a bull, but slightly smarter. He did get into Cambridge after all. Both knew how a fight would end between them._

 _"What do you want?" Sherlock asked. He supposed he should at least try to avoid a fight._

 _"You know exactly what I want." Hollows said._

 _"You want to beat me up, I suppose? My, you are a bumbling fool who can't do his homework without help, but even then I expected more of you. Getting beat up is so... boring."_

 _"You won't think so by the time I'm finished." Hollows said, a sickening grin spreading across his face._

 _"Then there's always the chance that you could get caught, then you'd be expelled, now wouldn't you?" Sherlock said._

 _"Do you think any of the teachers would actually report me for giving the school Freak what he deserves?" Hollows said. "Yeah, you're smart, I'll give you that, but you're terrible at figuring out who's on your side... Want to know the answer?"_

 _Sherlock had a feeling he was going to get the answer whether he wanted it or not._

 _"No one." Hollows said this in a sort of whisper, yet it felt as though he were screaming it into Sherlock's ear._

 _Sherlock felt the breath leave him as a knee sailed into his stomach, then he was immediately grabbed by the neck and slammed into the wall, over, and over, and over. Hollows threw him to the ground and dropped a knee into his ribs, causing a lightening like pain and a sharp crack. Sherlock gasped in pain.]_

 _"S-stop- please- s-stop" Sherlock_

 _"You didn't stop when I told you to," Hollows said. "So why should I?"_

 _Sherlock started to get up, but Hallows pushed him back to the ground. Hollows kicked Sherlock in the ribs repeatedly until Sherlock's vision started to darken, his body starting to choose unconsciousness instead of pain._

 _Then a voice was heard that was neither Hallows's, nor Sherlock's._

 _"Devin!" the voice called out. "Time for class! Come on!"_

 _Hollows nodded and waved in his direction before turning back to Sherlock._

 _Hollows kicked slushy snow into Sherlock's face._

 _"Freak."_

 _Hollows jogged off to find his friend._

 _Sherlock's vision faded to black._

* * *

 _*End Flash back*_

* * *

"Sherlock?" John said. He had been calling to him for the better part of a minute, but with no avail.

After another few moments though, Sherlock seemed to come back to himself.

"Sherlock? You alright?" John asked. "You just stopped here in this alley."

"Yes..." Sherlock said, obviously distracted, "I'm fine. Just... remembered something."

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing important." Sherlock said. "Won't help us with the case."

John decided not to further press the matter.

"The head office is that way?" John asked, pointing in one direction.

"Do stop being an idiot, John. I know you're not that stupid." Sherlock said. "Look at the signs. The head office is obviously that way."

Sherlock pointed in the opposite direction from where John was pointing.

John looked up at the sign he hadn't noticed until Sherlock pointed it out. Sherlock was right, as always.

"I am an idiot, aren't I?" John sighed.

"Yes, of course, I just told you that." Sherlock said.

"When is it my turn to be right?" John asked.

"You will be right when you are right, John," Sherlock said, "So... best you learn patience. It might be awhile."

Sherlock took off towards the head office.

John chuckled in fond exasperation.

"Why do I put up with you?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow... That really puts things into perspective, now doesn't it? I really didn't know it was going to be that bad... But Sherlock seemed used to it, didn't he? Must happen a lot. I wonder what his teachers thought of him? Would they really not stop Hollows if they knew he was hurting Sherlock? Yikes, people can be so cruel sometimes. I wonder what's going to happen at the head office. Who will he see there? Reviews please!


	26. Violet, Covered by Blue

Uneasiness flowed over Sherlock's mind, getting stronger and stronger the longer he spent at Cambridge.

It was like a chill that just wouldn't go away, it felt as if someone just barely brushing the hairs of your head.

Sherlock looked up at the sky for a moment, wondering if it were snowing, as he felt the tingling cold of snowflakes landing on his skin. It wasn't.

Students sauntered by, tending to their business. But they stopped once they saw him, the tall, thin, unfamiliar man with a complexion that rivaled the pallor of even a vampire's.

Sherlock pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, as if it were a barrier, protecting him from all harm.

* * *

 ** _*Flash Back*_**

* * *

 _Sherlock contemplated the visibility of his injuries in the privacy of his own room in the dormitory. He stared in the mirror, noting the dark bruising on his neck. Other than that, his injuries were not in the least noticeable. He could go about his business as though nothing had happened if it weren't for the despicable evidence of his failure made prominent with two violet hand prints._

 _Sherlock looked up at the clock and realized his next class would start in less than a quarter hour. He needed to walk a considerable distance to get there, so he didn't have long._

 _He scanned the room looking for something to hide the bruises. He pulled a dark blue scarf out of his wardrobe. Mummy had gotten him it awhile back, Sherlock couldn't remember why, he'd never worn it before. It came in handy now though. He wrapped it around his neck, covering the bruises. Then he put on his long coat, and pulled up the collar for good measure._

* * *

 ** _*End Flash Back_**

* * *

Sherlock pushed the pictures from his mind, trying to focus on the now, but they just continued, assaulting him when ever they were given the opportunity.

So much had happened here, so much that he had just forgotten... What else had he deleted? How much more was there to his life that he decided was unnecessary and had forgotten? Just how much of his own life did he not know about?

Sherlock checked his mind palace's memories and realized there were years worth of blank spaces.

It tortured him, how vulnerable he felt now that he realized that it wasn't John that didn't know him. He didn't know himself.

He was just as clueless about his own past as the rest of the world.

And that shook him. It shook him, down to even the deepest cavern of his mind.

 _ **How could he not know himself!?**_

He wanted John. Where was John?

Sherlock frantically looked around until his eyes landed on the doctor, who had stopped and was reading a sign on one of the buildings.

"Are you coming John?" Sherlock said.

"Yes, just a moment, Sherlock." John said. "Look at this, it says Cambridge has existed since at least 875... And here it says-"

"Yes, thank you John, I know the history." Sherlock growled. "I went to university here, remember? Let's just find what we need, then get out."

John looked to Sherlock.

"Alright, alright, no need to get snappy about it..." John said. "What's going on with you anyway? You're grouchier than Mycroft when he's run out of cake."

"Drop it John." Sherlock said.

"No." John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, forcing him to look at John. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Please..." There was a desperation in Sherlock's voice John hadn't heard before.

"Sherlock," John said, "I know you have trouble processing this, but I am worried to death about you. I don't think I've ever seen you worked up like this before, and certainly not when I don't know the reason. Now, you told me that you would start telling me more. So when we get back to the flat this conversation will continue, got it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Alright then. Consider it dropped."

* * *

They walked into the main building and up to the nearest desk.

"May I help you?" asked the attendant.

"Yes. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I'm a consulting detective working for Scotland yard. This is my friend and colleague Dr. John Watson. We're here to investigate a possible threat to the safety of your students, staff, and facility."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hmm... I wonder how this will turn out. Well, not really, I already know, but you don't! Did you like how I explained the collar and scarf? Reviews please!


	27. I Know What's Going to Happen

Sherlock and John eventually managed to get through all the necessary security precautions and background check, which included a phone call to Lestrade to have him confirm that Sherlock did in fact work for him. Sherlock didn't really, but Lestrade went along with it despite not actually having a clue what was going on. It was Sherlock though, and though he was occasionally an annoying idiot, Lestrade knew he could trust him.

* * *

"So what do we need to look for?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't answer but pulled up the picture of his old flat in the dormitory.

"So we're going to see your old flat then?"

"Moriarty wouldn't have sent this for no reason." Sherlock said. "The thing is, I don't know how he got his hands on that picture... It's got all my belongings while I was there, but it was rare someone would enter my room, let alone long enough to take a picture, and I most definitely didn't take a picture..."

 _Or did I?_ Sherlock thought.

He had no way of knowing.

At least not until he remembered the rest of his time here.

It was coming back in what was probably the most destructive way as far as his sanity was concerned. The memories came back in sharp, painful bursts.

He hated it.

Doubt.

Such a terrifying word, it was.

It embodied everything Sherlock stood against.

He, as a detective, worked to find answers to the questions no one would volunteer. He strove for the facts. He found, and inspected all evidence in existence, then made a conclusion based on the evidence.

He detested the fact that his mind, which had found the evidence and deciphered it, would make the same thing impossible when it mattered most.

With any given building, Sherlock could expect hundreds of deaths to be result of an explosion.

The stakes were high, but his mind was loud and unfocused. This case, it was more... personal, than he was used to. Usually he could just detach himself from the situation, but this- this was too close to him.

This was the sort of case most would back away from.

But not Sherlock Holmes.

He would get this, he would control his emotions, control his surroundings, and he would find the answer. He had to.

Sherlock walked up the steps of the dormitory and into the building.

Then he stopped.

He stared at the corridor for a moment, and his eyes wondered up a set stairs, then down the other stair case.

 _The room..._ _was upstairs?_ Sherlock thought. _But... how? Down stairs seems more familiar..._

Sherlock tread slowly up the stairs.

* * *

John wondered why Sherlock was being so slow about this. Why couldn't he just walk right up to his room?

They had been given the clearance they needed to go anywhere on campus. Now they both stood staring along the second floor corridor.

"I don't remember." Sherlock said, in answer to John's unspoken question.

It was sort of disturbing just how much Sherlock was capable of reading John's mind.

"What?" John said.

"I don't have any idea which one was mine." Sherlock said. "I know I was in this building, on the second floor, in the right corridor, but I have no clue which room is my own."

"Deduce it then." John said. "Deduce which room was yours using what you do remember."

"That's just the thing John, I don't remember much at-" Sherlock cut himself off. "Oh..."

* * *

Sherlock compiled the memories he had of his room together and went through them. He had a window opposite his door.

 _Could be any room._

When he walked out of his room, the main stair way was to the right.

 _So it's on the left side of the corridor. That eliminates half._

He searched his mind for more information. He used the back stairway more often than the main one.

 _So the room was closer to the end. That halves it again._

Now there were only five rooms it could possibly be.

 _Think think think think think!_

"Sherlock?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Sherlock raised his hands to his head and began pacing. "Come on..." He muttered.

"Sherlock, calm down." John said. "You'll figure it out."

 _He doesn't get it, he doesn't understand._ Sherlock thought.

"John..."

* * *

 ** _*Flash back*_**

* * *

 _Sherlock shut and locked the door to his room. He walked down the corridor to the back stairs, as always. The reason for his odd route, which was different than most of the students', was because there was a lesser chance of him getting caught and cornered. But lesser chance didn't mean impossible though, and this was one of the times that proved it._

 _Sherlock heard footsteps coming up behind him, and keeping his head down, tried not to draw attention to himself._

 _It didn't work._

 _Next thing he knew, he was at the bottom of the stair case, despite not actually having even begun walking down it._

 _"Just a reminder of what will happen if you deduct me again," Devin Hollows growled, "Freak."_

 _Hollows walked away, leaving Sherlock lying there._

 _"Deduce..." Sherlock whispered to himself._

* * *

 _ ***End Flash Back***_

* * *

"This one." Sherlock pointed to the second room from the back stair way. "It was this one."

Sherlock pulled out the master key they had been authorized to use (with the help of a phone call to Mycroft) and inserted it into the lock.

There was a small click and Sherlock was able to open the door. The both of them walked in, then shut the door behind them.

"So this is where you stayed when you were in uni." John said.

"Ye-p." Sherlock popped the "p".

John admired the view from the window while Sherlock scanned the room. He found nothing out of the ordinary, considering a uni student was living there.

Then he saw it.

"John-"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I know what's going to happen."

* * *

 **A/N: Well, I decided to leave you guessing, sorry for that. Okay, no, not really, but I do pity you. Sort of. A little bit.**


	28. The Texts of a Sociopath

"What?" John asked, turning to look at Sherlock, who was staring out the same window John had been.

John looked back out the window, trying to see what Sherlock was.

"What's going to happen?" John asked.

"I... a long time ago, I sort of blew up a classmate's room. On purpose." Sherlock said. "They never knew who did it, but... Moriarty apparently knows it was me. He's going to blow up the entire university. Every single building. Including the one we're currently standing in."

"Why did you blow up your classmate's room?" John asked. "Actually, more importantly, why did he choose this? There are more populated areas than just this."

"Like I said before, Moriarty doesn't care about the body count." Sherlock said. "He wants his message read loud and clear."

"Which would be... what?"

"Think about it, John." Sherlock said. "This town is hundreds of years old, the historical significance is quite amazing, as well as its significance in relation to medical and technological research. If he blows it up, With that, he's wanting to make his mark on history. These dorms contain some of the greatest minds in current existence, the future in each of the fields. They're also young people. He's taking away their chance, just as their parents took away his."

"What do you mean?" John asked. "How did their parents take away his?"

"John, when you're isolated to the extent we were, you don't get nearly the opportunity to network that most would." Sherlock said. "Most people either fight against us or ignore us entirely. Moriarty is a brilliant man, who with out a doubt could have done some world leading research of some kind, but..."

Sherlock trailed off, going back into his mind.

He was revealing far more than he wanted to about himself. But it was necessary for the case... So he had to, right?

"But what?" John prompted.

"Throughout school people like us are always the odd ones out, disliked by even the teacher..."

Several pictures came into Sherlock's mind, unbidden.

"Wait..." Sherlock pulled out his phone and was typing something in before John could even process what he had said.

"What are you doing?" John asked, trying unsuccessfully to peak over Sherlock's shoulder.

John heard Sherlock breath out as he closed his eyes.

"I knew there was something." He said.

"What are you talking about?!" John asked, grabbing for Sherlock's phone.

Sherlock let him take it.

The picture he had pulled up showed a team of Chemistry students holding a trophy. Sherlock was quite visible, his height and bone structure making sure of it. Even then, with a lab coat, he wore the blue scarf.

John had always wondered the significance of that scarf, Sherlock was rarely without it. The coat too, seemed to be always with him.

Maybe he would ask sometime.

Maybe not.

"So... What's the big deal?" John asked.

"Look at the person standing next to me in the back, they're quite short, barely visible."

John did as Sherlock told him.

"Is that...?" John squinted at the picture to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Yes." Sherlock said. "Moriarty was my classmate. Might somehow explain his obsession with me... Well, sort of..."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, how could you have _possibly_ delete that?!"

"How do you expect me to have known he was going to do this?!" Sherlock fired back. "There is no possible way I could have known what he would turn into! He was just an ordinary person to me! I delete the times I'm not fond of, and he happened to be caught up in this one!"

"I-I know, I'm sorry, it's just that-" John hesitated. "Shock, I guess, surprise. I just figured we would have seen a connection like this sooner."

Sherlock felt his phone vibrate.

 _ **Meet me. - JM**_

 _ **Where? - SH**_

"Who's texted you?" John asked.

 _ **You know where.- JM**_

"Moriarty." Sherlock said. "He wants me to meet him."

"Do I get to come this time?" John asked.

Sherlock's phone vibrated again, he looked down at it.

 _ **You can take your little guard dog if you want. - JM**_

"Yes."

 _ **When? - SH**_

 _ **Now. -JM**_

 ** _Do I want to know how you got past the RA? -SH_**

 ** _Probably not. - JM_**

"What's going on?"John asked.

 _ **I'd appreciate if you didn't ask. -JM**_

 _ **Why? -Sh**_

 _ **Because then you might hate me more than you already do. - JM**_

 _ **I don't hate you. -SH**_

"Stop that." John said.

"Stop what?"

"You're texting someone who plans to commit mass murder, and smiling." John said.

"Oh."

Was he? He hadn't meant to.

 ** _Really? - JM_**

 ** _Of course not, you're far too interesting for me to hate you. I only hate stupid people, like Anderson for example. - SH_**

"I'm serious, Sherlock." John said. "That's creepy."

"He just said something sort of funny." Sherlock said. "Don't worry about it."

 _ **He is annoying, isn't he? Why does he dislike you so much? What did you deduce about him? - JM**_

 _ **Nothing, actually. I deduced something about Sally, and since then, it's been like this. - SH**_

 ** _Ridiculous how much people over react, isn't it? - JM_**

 ** _Tell me about it. - SH_**

"Sherlock, don't we need to find those bombs?" John asked.

"Don't worry about it, he hasn't started the timer yet." Sherlock said.

 ** _We better get back to the point. John's bugging me about it. - SH_**

 ** _Yeah, I guess we better. - JM_**

 ** _So... meet you there in 5 minutes? - SH_**

 ** _Sounds good. - JM_**

Sherlock turned his phone off and slid it back into his pocket.

John's words then sunk into his mind, processing entirely for the first time.

Yes, he had actually just had a relatively normal conversation with some one who was currently plotting the deaths of hundreds of people.

Oh well. It was interesting, if slightly creepy now that he thought about it.

* * *

 **A/N: RA means "resident assistant" for those of who don't know. It would sort of be like the dorm manager. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews please!**


	29. Five Minutes

Sherlock led John back down the stairs of the dormitory.

"So where are we meeting him?" John asked.

"Just a place I used to spend a lot of time studying. I believe normal people would call it a 'hang out'. Except that usually involves other people. Only I knew about the space," Sherlock said. "Or so I thought."

Sherlock walked down the second set of stairs into the office, where the saw the RA tied up and gagged, though appearing uninjured.

John started towards the RA, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

"We can deal with her once we're done with him." Sherlock said. "I'd prefer no one interrupted our meeting."

John hesitated a moment, but did as Sherlock said.

Sherlock opened a door that said 'Staff only' and slipped in, John following behind him.

He walked past the water heaters and the central heating units to the back of the small room.

The only reason that the dormitory had this room was for the housing of utilities, so they didn't go in unless something was broken or needed replaced.

The rest of the time, Sherlock could use it.

It was a dimly lit room, only a few bulbs hanging over head to lighten it, and even then shadows of maintenance equipment played all over the walls and floors, causing it to look much darker, much creepier, than it actually was.

Moriarty was standing there, waiting.

* * *

"So here we are." Moriarty said.

"Yes." Sherlock looked around at the room.

It looked much as it had before, very little changed, with the exception of it appearing that they had replaced some of the water heaters.

"If the bomb is what you're looking for, you're not going to find it here. It's strapped to the foundation." Moriarty said. "Just like on all the other buildings."

"Of course, I'm not. You're too smart to leave it where I could get to it." Sherlock said. "What I'm looking for, is the button that will start the timer."

"How do you know it's not already been started?"

"Oh, you're much to much fun for that..." Sherlock said.

"Well, you're right about that." Moriarty said, the last word spoken in a sing song voice. "I've attached the timer to the light switch in room 221 of the Chemistry lab... Our old classroom."

"221. You were my partner for a few experiments. We always used the B station. 221B. Funny how things can just line up so perfectly, isn't it?" Moriarty said.

"Yes." Sherlock cautiously.

"Professor Brough, do you remember him, Sherly-locks?" Moriarty grinned.

Sherlock dug his mind for the name. After a bit of looking, he found that he did remember.

"Yes, and don't call me that." Sherlock said. "Professor Brough was my Advanced Chemistry teacher. He's the one who gave me the idea to become a consulting dete-"

Sherlock paused, the memory falling over his mind.

"Oh." He mouthed silently.

"But he didn't actually mean it, did he? He was being sarcastic, it was a joke. But you took it seriously, and made it work." Moriarty said. "Professor Brough was your favorite teacher, but he _despised_ you. Hated you for mixing his _pure_ science with the uncertainties of the world. Well, you won't have him to worry about anymore. He still works here you know, still in the same classroom. It's been redone though. It looks quite nice actually. It's a shame that it won't be once I'm finished."

"When Professor Brough walks in, he'll turn on the light." Sherlock said. "There will be a brief period of time, then..."

"Bang." Moriarty supplied. "And he'll never even know what he's done. There will be too much damage and chaos, by the time they start investigating... I'll be long gone."

"And you'll have sent your message to the world." Sherlock breathed. "Brilliant."

"Oh, isn't it?" Moriarty smirked.

Then an alarm bell in his mind palace. Sherlock couldn't yet place it, but there was something that was setting those alarms off.

"Something's wrong." Sherlock said.

"Obviously." John muttered.

"No, not just this, something else." Sherlock said. "There's more to it... Something to do with the timer... give me a second."

Sherlock withdrew into his mind palace, and did a check on all his systems to find which alarm was going off.

Section 5.

The memory section.

Sherlock scrolled through the possible causes before he found it.

He opened his eyes.

"You did account for the fact that he always comes to his classes 15 minutes early?" Sherlock said, looking at Moriarty.

Moriarty was about to respond when he stopped, his mouth still slightly open.

"I never knew..." Moriarty stuttered, "I- I was always late..."

"Well it looks like your dramatics backfired on you." Sherlock said. "When does the class start?"

When Moriarty didn't answer John grabbed him and pinned him to the wall by the throat.

"Answer him. Now." He repeated, his voice threatening. "Or it won't matter for you anymore."

"It- _*chokes a bit*_ It starts at 2:30." Moriarty said.

"Then it will be about 2:15 that he gets there..." John trailed off.

John released him, Moriarty gasping as he was able to breathe properly again.

They all stood there a moment, looking at each other.

"What time is it, John?" Sherlock said.

John looked down at his watch.

"2:10."

* * *

 **A/N: So a little bit shorter of a chapter than usual, but I hope you enjoyed it. Get ready for the climax! This is one story that will go out with a bang! But don't worry... There will be a sequel...**


	30. A Different Kind of Explosion

"How long is the timer?" John demanded.

"3 min-utes!" Moriarty sang, followed by a laugh.

Unfortunately, John's anger at the remark had been multiplied by his fear.

"How in the world could you be laughing in a time like this?" John said. His voice was low and sharp, reflecting the dangerous nature of the situation.

"Because," Moriarty said. He leaned closer to John, a maniacal grin spreading across his face. "If I burn," He said. "You burn with me."

John pushed Moriarty back away from him, and turned around.

"We probably ought to run now, Sherlock." John said, grabbing Sherlock's wrist, starting to pull him out the door.

Sherlock shook his arm out of John's grip.

"Not enough time now." Sherlock said. "We couldn't get far enough away, and we'd be out in the open. Besides, we're locked in here."

"Alright- wait- what?!" John said.

"The RA used to be a girl scout, she knows knots. She got loose, then locked us in here. I heard her ealier. She plans to call the police, but they won't get here in time, it's time for the traffic rush." Sherlock finished.

"And you didn't bother to tell either of us about this?" John asked.

"He already knew, and you should have." Sherlock said. "There's not a lot we could do about it anyway."

"Alright then, so we're stuck down here?" John said.

"It would appear so."

"With a bomb going to go off in..." John checked his phone. "4 minutes from now?"

"Yes."

"So we're basically just sitting here, waiting to die."

"Unless you stop asking useless questions, John, yes, that will be exactly what we're doing." Sherlock said. "Now let me think."

Sherlock closed his eyes and entered his mind palace.

"Tell me when we've got a minute left." Sherlock muttered.

* * *

 _Where would be the safest point in the room?_

 _To figure out that, I'd have to know the location of the bomb._

 _It would only be logical that it would be in the center of the building's foundation, and large enough to take the entire foundation out._

 _So the center... the edges hunched down would probably be the safest then, right? Hunching down in one of the corners?_

 _But they'd need to have something keeping debris from hitting them above and to the side. The corner would eliminate most of it, but there were still those two open sides..._

"Two minutes, Sherlock."

 _Think. Think. Think. Think. THINK._

 _Which corner though?_

 _Would it make a difference?_

 _Which pillar of the foundation is strongest...?_

 _The West one? No. Not that one._

 _East? No._

 _North... ah yes. North should have the strongest pillar._

 _Wait. How do I know that?_

 _Who cares?_

 _North pillar..._

 _Flat on stomach..._

 _No top side cover._

 _What can we cover ourselves with?_

 _Need something hard._

 _Metal?_

 _No, there aren't any metal flat things... Just the water heaters. That won't work._

 _Wood, then?_

 _Flat wood?_

 _Table?_

 _Large table in East corner, used to be used in dormitory office..._

 _Very thick... would protect us from most of the debris..._

 _Good enough._

 _How far down does foundation go?_

 _It's primarily stone and concrete... Not far, doesn't need to go far. It's a heavy building._

 _Couldn't really be blown over by wind._

 _It would be hard for an earthquake to damage it._

 _Middle pillar is taken down, it all falls in..._

"One minute!" John said. Sherlock glanced at John, who's eyes were rapidly filling with fear. Despite the situation, his hands were steady. John, always the doctor...

"Help me get that table to the North corner." Sherlock said.

John nodded and he and Sherlock hurriedly started to pull the table top to the corner.

It was made out of solid oak, and it wasn't easy to move due to the weight of it.

"Moriarty, get over here and help us if you'd like to live!" John said.

"Ah, but this is fun to watch you boys fight to survive, and with less than a minute left!" Moriarty said, still with that scary grin. "I think I'll leave it to you, there's a better view from here."

"He's a lunatic, Sherlock, a raving lunatic!" John said. "Doesn't he realize he's about to die?!"

"He doesn't care, John." Sherlock said. "Now pull harder!"

There was a loud squeaking noise as they managed to pull the table to the corner.

 _30 seconds._

 _29..._

 _28..._

Sherlock ticked off the seconds in his mind.

"Lay flat on your stomach with your arms over your head." Sherlock said. "I'll be back in a second."

 _25..._

 _24..._

Sherlock ran back to where Moriarty was standing.

"Don't tell me you don't want to see the results of your handy work?" Sherlock said.

"I don't really care, Sherlock." Moriarty said. "I'm getting done what I want to get done."

"Sherlock, stop being an idiot! Get over here!" John said. "If he doesn't want to come, leave him!"

 _13..._

 _12..._

 _11..._

"Please." Sherlock said, turning back to Moriarty.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because I know you're worth saving." Sherlock said. "I know I can't make you do anything. Follow me, or not. It's your choice."

7...

6...

"SHERLOCK! Get over here now!"

Sherlock glanced at John before returning his gaze to Moriarty.

"Make the right one."

He lingered a moment longer before deciding he had no time to spare.

He started back to the table, but realized that his lingering had cost him.

3...

2...

He wouldn't make it there in time...

1.

* * *

The world exploded with light. Then it went dark.

* * *

 **A/N: I wish you could see how much I was jumping up and down as I wrote this, because I actually was. So... That would probably account for any typos you find... Yeah... Anyway, Wow. I'm just as excited about writing the next chapter as you (hopefully) are excited about reading it. Please review!**


	31. The Hero

A ringing white noise.

 _Where's that coming from?_

 _What happened...?_

 _Can't hear anything else..._

 _Can't see either..._

 _Ah, yes, eyes are closed..._

 _Should probably open them..._

 _Not going to. Tired._

"Sherlock!"

 _Who's that?_

 _Oh, right, that's my name._

 _Who's calling it?_

 _Why?_

 _They sound worried._

 _Huh._

 _I can't feel my body._

 _That's strange._

 _Have I been decapitated?_

 _No, not possible._

 _I would be dead._

 _Some sort of shock?_

 _More likely._

 _Still only semiconscious?_

 _Yep. There's the answer._

 _Why am I not entirely awake yet?_

 _I should be by now._

 _Need to open eyes..._

* * *

John sighed in relief as Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.

"Look at me Sherlock." John said.

Two blue orbs gazed up at him, unfocused as they may be, they were in his general direction.

John counted that as a success.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?"

"John...?" Sherlock muttered, as he slowly raised a hand to his head.

* * *

 _Head hurts..._

 _Why?_

 _Some kind of wound?_

 _Obviously. Why else would it hurt?_

 _Could just be a head ache._

 _No, blood is running into my eyes, definitely a head wound._

 _How did I get that?_

 _It was light, then it went dark..._

 _Explosion?_

 _That must have been it._

 _It's the only thing that fits all the observations._

 _John's talking to me again._

 _What is he saying?_

* * *

"Do you remember what happened, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Some... some sort of explosion, wasn't there?" Sherlock muttered, his eyes closing again for a moment.

"Stay awake." John said. "I think you have a concussion."

Sherlock mumbled something about John mollycoddling him, but it was at best half-hearted.

He tried to push himself up, but had to stop in a sitting position when his vision began to darken.

John had him pull his legs up and put his head on top of his arms, which rested on his knees.

"Take it easy." John said. "You're hurt pretty badly."

John looked around at the destruction surrounding them.

The once beautiful university, was now just piles of stone and rubble.

John could see some of the survivors digging through the debris in hopes of finding the people trapped beneath.

"He won..." John sighed.

Sherlock by now had recovered enough to sit normally.

"What-" Sherlock winced as he tried to find a position that would cause less pain, "-what do you mean?"

"He got what he wanted." John said. "Moriarty sent his message."

* * *

 _Moriarty._

John tried to stop Sherlock from standing up, but Sherlock would hear nothing of it.

Sherlock swayed from dizziness as he became aware of the full extent of his injuries.

 _Ow ow ow ow ow..._

"What are you doing!?" John asked.

"Got to find him... He's still in there somewhere..." Sherlock said, gasping slightly from the pain.

"Sherlock, you're hurt. Quite badly I might add. You need to stay here. I've already called the police, and Mycroft."

"No..." Sherlock said, wrenching his arm out of John's grip. He stumbled and nearly fell when his legs went weak from the sudden movement.

"At least let me help you, then!"

* * *

John grabbed one of Sherlock's arms and threw it over his shoulder, taking some of Sherlock's weight.

 _Why can't you just stay down like a normal person?_ John thought irately.

 _Surely you feel all those burns, cuts, and bruises!_

 _Of course you do, you were about to pass out just from sitting up._

 _So why in the world would you choose to try and **stand** up only a minute later!?_

 _He's got to be the most stupid genius on the planet._

"You're lucky you're light..." John grumbled.

"Over there." Sherlock pointed to a spot piled high with rubble.

* * *

Sherlock tried to do the quick math to see where Moriarty would have ended up, but his mind sort of shut down once he got into the general vicinity.

 _If the bomb was 3 feet beneath the floor, and he was two feet to the left of the bomb, then he would have been blown at an angle of..._

Sherlock's mind went blank, and a sharp pain shot through his head.

To Sherlock's despair, John noticed his sudden change in expression.

"Sherlock you've got to take it easy." John said. "Thinking with a concussion is just going to make it worse."

"But I've got to find him-"

"No, Sherlock, you don't, you need to rest." John said. "He's the one who started this, why would you want to find him anyway?"

"Because-" Sherlock hesitated. "Doesn't matter, you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

John was positive that if Sherlock hadn't been almost entirely reliant on him to keep himself in a vertical position, he would have pushed John away.

The way it was, that wasn't an option.

John didn't figure Sherlock would answer, and continued helping him walk to the area he had been wanting to go.

"You know how I sometimes can't explain what I'm thinking? What I'm... _feeling_?" Sherlock said abruptly. "This is one of those times. Can you please just help me?"

John nodded wordlessly, surprised by Sherlock's admission of feeling something.

There was only the sound of rocks moving as they searched through the remains of the old dormitory.

At John's insistence, Sherlock took a short break every 10 minutes.

Sherlock had tried to bargain for fifteen, but John wasn't about to let him get away with that.

* * *

"Sherlock. I think I found something." John said. "Help me move this big rock."

Sherlock maneuvered himself closer to John's position, and together they were able to push the stone away.

The breath caught in Sherlock's throat.

Moriarty was revealed, burns covering most of his body.

If he was alive, he wouldn't be for long.

John quickly pressed his fingers to the limp wrist, and was astonished to find that there was a pulse, be it slow and weak.

John released the wrist just as he heard a wheezy breath.

Moriarty's eyes cracked open.

"Sh- Sherlock?" He said. "You were right." Moriarty coughed several times, red dribbling down his cheek.

 _Evidence of a punctured lung._ John noted.

 _A bad one. He's not going to make it._

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked swiftly. "How was I right?"

"You told- _*weak cough*_ me that- that I wouldn't get what I was _*wince, then several deep, gasping breaths*_ looking for from- from this."

"Yes..." Sherlock said.

"I thought this would be my revenge..." Moriarty sputtered, trying not to inhale his own blood. "That this would make them understand... But it's not... it's not good..."

Moriarty reached up and grabbed Sherlock's wrist with alarming strength considering his condition. He looked Sherlock straight in the eyes in a way that made Sherlock positive that what ever Moriarty said next was important.

"There's more coming- they want you..." Moriarty said. "Don't- don't underestimate them... They're not ordinary-"

"There's more like us?" Sherlock asked.

"Not- not quite. But closer. Much, much closer." Moriarty gasped for breath.

"Help me sit him up." John ordered.

Agony filled Moriarty's face as Sherlock and John pulled him up to lean against a pile of rubble.

"How did you find them?" Sherlock asked. "When?"

"Started at uni... kept on for a long time... My- my daughter... Vanessa... she's one... You've got- _*cough*_ to warn them..." Moriarty said, with almost a begging tone in his voice. "K-keep 'em from making same mistake I did..."

"I will. Can you give me somewhere to start?" Sherlock asked. "How can I find them?"

"Meet- every..." Moriarty trailed off, starting to lose consciousness.

Sherlock shook him lightly and Moriarty yelped in pain.

"Where do they meet?" Sherlock repeated.

"Old apartment... rented out. Here in- London... Johnson str- street." Moriarty said. "First Saturday... Every- six months... 3:00... Had one this- this month." Moriarty struggled to speak. "Please... Save them... Too late for me..."

Moriarty's eyes closed, and Sherlock looked up at John who had been monitoring the man's pulse.

"He's gone Sherlock." John said.

Sherlock looked down at the now vacant body as silver tears dripped from his eyes and down his cheeks, the salt stinging the burns on his face.

Sherlock had just lost his one chance at ever being truly **_understood._**

* * *

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, in an attempt at comforting him, but he didn't try to calm him.

John didn't understand the strange bond that had been between Sherlock and Moriarty, but that was alright.

He didn't need to.

Sherlock was his best friend, and if his friend was upset, he would comfort him to the best of his abilities.

John did hold some admiration for Moriarty now.

He wasn't the evil mastermind he had though he was.

He made bad choices, but he died a **hero**.

In John's mind, that didn't make him a good person, but it made him not quite as bad.

After all, Moriarty was only human.

And his death proved that.

* * *

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 **A/N: Raise your hand if you cried reading that. *No one raises their hand* Liars. I'll be writing a sequel soon, but I haven't named it yet. Just watch out for it. I'll put an author's note on this story once I've got the first chapter of the sequel put up. I'd love to see some reviews telling me how you think I did, now that you've read the entire story. I hope you enjoyed my second completed story (in my life, yeah, I know it's sad) and my first novel length story! (Yay!)**


	32. Author's Note About Sequel

**Author's Note**

* * *

 **Alright, I've got the sequel up now. It's titled "The Healing Poison."**

 **Just wanted to let you know it exists now. Anyway, Enjoy!**


End file.
